


A Crown of Golden Leaves

by Evil Teddy Bear (TheDragonRider), TheDragonRider



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece & Rome, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternative Universe - Royalty, Bittersweet Ending, Character Study, Discussion of Abortion, Do Not Underestimate the Author's Ability to Write Dark and Evil Things, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Roller Coaster, F/M, Infidelity, Moral Ambiguity, Moral Dilemmas, Moral Lessons, Morality, Politics, Romance, Slow Build, Terminal Illnesses, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tragedy, True Love, Violence, background incest, but now it's just suffering everywhere and I'M NOT SORRY, literally roman!Percy, roman!Percy, soul searching, the slowest of slow burns, this was supposed to be short, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 42
Words: 156,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2109195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonRider/pseuds/Evil%20Teddy%20Bear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDragonRider/pseuds/TheDragonRider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabeth, a lady from the declining polis called Athens, must marry the Heir Apparent of Rome in order to save her country and the rapidly expanding world from a threat even the gods couldn't foresee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Caput I: A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liz/gifts).



> Originally, this started out as a 10-15 chapter study of Percy's character and a short indulgence for my eternal, undying love for Roman history. I had wanted to write something set in Rome for over two years, but it wasn't until I turned fourteen that I typed out of the first chapter. Now, it's been over three years, almost fifty chapters, and I'm not even close to being finished with the monster AU my brain has spawned. 
> 
> I am absolutely, most definitely, stepping out of my comfort zone with this fic. At least, in some ways. In other ways, I'm not. I've never written a romance as the center focus before, and I've certainly never written a kiss scene beyond "And they kissed." (*laughs nervously while looking at the later chapters*) So! Feedback is welcome so long that it's not derogatory, especially if it's something that points out a recurring error in my writing. 
> 
> A fair warning: When I began writing this, I had just turned 14, I had no idea it would grow to become such a major part of my life. My knowledge of Greco-Roman history/politics/literature was nowhere near as strong as it is now - if I'd known back then what I knew now, there would have been way more power plays/struggles in the first arc. At least I got the topography right though. 
> 
> I swear I will never, ever discontinue this fic even if I'm on my deathbed when I'm 100 or something. I've put in too much effort to quit on this now, and I don't believe in giving up. So, even if it takes me several months to update (has happened way too many times), or even years (God forbid), I'll continue to work on it when I'm able. I've put in too much effort to leave it half done. 
> 
> Finally, I hope you all enjoy reading this monster of mine. :) 
> 
> Cheers, 
> 
> Kitty
> 
>  
> 
> **A B O U T**
> 
>  
> 
> ➛ Category: Canon AU  
> ➛ Genres: Romance, suspense, adventure, angst, hurt/comfort, tragedy (...Everything except comedy?) 
> 
> ➣ Rated/Warnings: I give up on the rating, it's either a high T or a low M/violence, language, (implied) domestic violence, (implied) sexual content, angst (all who are surprised raise your hand...), major character death, (implied) sexual assault. 
> 
> ➛ Het: Percy/Annabeth  
> ➣ Can be read as an original if you're not involved in the PJO fandom.  
> ➛ Updates every 4-6 weeks, depending on external circumstances. 
> 
>  
> 
> **D I S C L A I M E R**
> 
>  
> 
> None of this is mine. I'm just playing in Rick Riordan's sandbox and messing around with history. I make no guarantees that everything will remain unbroken as I cannot be held responsible for my own actions. 
> 
>  
> 
>  **EDIT, August 2017:** I'll be going through this and doing some minor edits as I revamp my outline as I go into the penultimate arcs (the end is on the distant horizon, but not there yet), and I need to catch up on my updates again since I'm writing chapter 50 as I finish this note. Hopefully, the end result will be worth it. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Click here for proof that Percy isn't OOC. ](http://emilyvidosa.tumblr.com/post/137190089430/the-ultimate-percy-jackson-characterization)

❊ P A R T 1: Where the Light Is ❊

* * *

 

 _ **Where the Light Is: Part 1 in A Crown of Golden Leaves  
** _ _**Written by Kitty 2014-2015** _

**Tags:** AU, feelings, fate, finding yourself, love, percabeth, unknown threat, hidden darkness 

 

 

 

* * *

Caput I: A Chance Encounter 

* * *

 

  **‘Once** upon a time’, that’s how most of the Fairy Tales begin, right? That’s how you’re supposed to tell a good story. _That’s_ how you know everything will be alright in the end.  

But not this one.

This is not a story about a perfect princess. This is not a story about how beautiful her life was. This story is not about how beautiful her naivety was. This is not the story about how the man she loved thought she was a beauty and fell immediately for her.

No, not this one.

This is a story about a girl who was divided between her country and her feelings, between her parents and her husband. This is the story of a girl who went away from everything she knew. This is a story about how fast she had to grow up. This is a story about how she felt when she fell for the one she was supposed to hate—about how she felt when she betrayed her homeland. This is a story of destiny, and how it could change the world. For better or for worse.

This is a story of Rome.

~…~                                                                                                                                                                                                      

The Roman Empire was a very beautiful place, or what she had seen of it so far.

She hadn’t seen the Eternal City itself, yet, but the outskirts were very pretty. The land came up to the Mare Nostrum as they sailed pass, cliffs rising above them thousands of feet and stretching into the sky. Waves crashed against the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs, jumping into the air up to fifty feet in a spray of blue and white. After the waves got pass the rocks (if there were any) they would surge toward the bottom of the cliffs, crashing so hard and so big that she thought occasionally that the cliffs would break.

They didn’t break.

Other times, there were no cliffs, only flatland where the waves would roll gently up against the white and yellow sand. As opposed to the rough and wild nature of the water before, when the crashed against boulders and cliffs that dramatically went to the sea, this was gentle and soothing. It was healing.

Other times, there would be no land. Just the water stretching on forever and ever, gray fog and clouds covering the ocean making it appear gray rather than blue. It rained a lot too. Sometimes, so hard it would be like the rain goddess hated them. The seas would pitch and hurl, making their little ship go up and up, higher and higher, and then down and down back into the seas. Several times, it felt like it would break when it met the force of the raging ocean. It never did. She wasn’t sure if Poseidon was protecting them, or if he was trying to kill them.

Once they got out of the seas and onto the lands, they would alternate between riding on horseback and walking. Much to her dismay, she found out that rainfalls would come in less than ten minutes, lasting for what seemed like forever but usually wasn’t more than thirty minutes. There never was never enough time to get to shelter, and she normally ended up soaked to the skin.

However, the rest of the day was sunny and warm, sometimes too much so. She had never sweated so much in her life. Greece certainly didn’t have weather like this. It rarely rained, and when it did, it stayed.  

But Rome was green, and there were tall trees that had strange leaves that looked similar to the ones on Banana trees at the top of them. She almost got hit in the head by a round brown thing once, and one of the natives told her it was a ‘coconut’. She added that to her vocabulary: “coconut”, round brown things that can give you brain damage.

She could wear even her lightest toga and not get cold—something that was a miracle.

She hated Roma.

She _should_ hate Roma, so she did. It had taken over and made her home weak. Her people were beginning to starve. She had to marry the next Caesar in order to save her people and to save her kingdom.  They had taken their gods and made them ‘perfect’.

That was an unforgivable offense.

“Princess?” a blond head popped around the tent they had set up for her. She didn’t remove her gaze from the books she didn’t know how to read. _Oh,_ how much she wished she knew how to read and write. But she was a girl after all.

She turn on her heel and clasped her hands behind her back. She let her lips curl up into a smile as she took in those light blue eyes of her dearest and oldest friend. Luke, son of Hermes, also her personal guard, he was like her brother. At one time, she had a crush on him but that faded when she got older and realized he was so _obviously_ in love with Thalia, daughter of Zeus.

He was going to stay with her in Roma, along with a few of her other, and only, friends. At least she had been allowed to have them with her during this dark time.

Luke’s eyebrows were scrunched together as he stepped inside of the tent, ducking his head under the makeshift doorframe so that he wouldn’t hit it. He had to stoop a little so that he fit inside of the tent.

“Are you sure about this? There’s still time to turn back.”

Annabeth folded her arms under her chest, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes. “And admit defeat? No.”

Luke raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if he was asking ‘ _why me_ ’? “This isn’t a war, and it isn’t a matter of pride, Annabeth.” He sounded frustrated, but they’ve been having this conversation for over a year. Ever since her father had announced that she was engaged to the Royal Court, and eventually the people. And Annabeth would make sure he got the same answer every time.

“I know it’s not,” she sighed. “Gods, Luke, do you think I _want_ to marry a stranger?”

Luke glanced at her, “It sure seems like it.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he held his hands up. “I’m just stating a fact.” Annabeth sighed through her nose. “Why are you doing this anyway? And if it’s a matter of pride…”

Annabeth lifted the left side of her lips up in a half smile. “No, not this time. We’re in pandemonium, Luke. Cities are fighting each other for more power, don’t get me started on Athens and Sparta. We’re slowly crumbling. Our people are beginning to starve, Luke. We… I need someone by my side to help unite Greece again.”

“And what if this man is a perverted old geezer?”

“Then I’m screwed.”

Luke shook his head at her, “Is there _anything_ I can do to change your mind?”

Annabeth unwound her arms and let them hang by her sides. She smiled up at him, despite the situation. He was like an overprotective big brother. “No, I’m convinced I’m doing the right thing.”

A loud clashing sound came from outside, like the strike of metal on metal. Annabeth’s breath caught in her throat as she heard the sound. She didn’t know how to fight. Luke’s hand had strayed toward his strange double metal sword. Backbiter, but Annabeth didn’t know why a sword would be named that.

“Stay he…” he trailed off when the roof of the tent was ripped and they could see the sky. And a giant eye. “Never mind, run!” Luke shouted, pushing her toward the hole in the tent where the drape that usually covered the entrance stood. Annabeth glanced at him over his shoulder as he pushed her out, nearly stumbling over the stupid toga.

“I’m not leaving you!”

“It doesn’t matter; I’ll be fine! Go!” she gulped and nodded; the tone of his voice was not one to be messed with. She grabbed the front of her toga and lifted it up, noticing she didn’t have her sandals on. She winced, she would regret that by the time this night was over. Her feet started moving of their own accord.

She ran through various spats and spars, there was Thalia charging her spear with electricity, and there was Leo, laughing manically with his hands on fire. She looked to her right, wincing as her foot landed in something warm and wet before going on quicker. Her feet stung already.

  _From now on, I’m going to wear shoes to bed._ She thought as her gaze landed on Nico, who was calmly blasting a Cyclopes with his shadow power thingy. She quickened her pace even though her heart was racing and her lungs felt constricted.

There! The tree line! She would be safe! She dived between the trees, but she was running again. It was worse now, she felt like her lungs were on fire and her feet undoubtfully had splinters in them. There was something chasing her too, the footsteps were loud over her breathing. Tree branches started hitting her in the face and she held her arms up, shielding it as she ran. Her hair was falling down her back and her toga was slipping off her shoulders.

Suddenly, she tripped over something and rolled to the ground, clutching her ankle as icy hot pain seared through it. The thing following her was really close now. She closed her eyes and tried not to breathe through her mouth.

“Demigod lunch… mmm.” A deep voice rumbled from above her. Despite herself, she opened her eyes and looked up, trying to ignore the way the hack hanged off the really, really big man’s shoulders. There was his mouth and a nose. She gulped and looked a little higher.

She screamed, scrambling back into the trunk of the tree. The man wasn’t a man, he only had one eye! Her heart, which had begun to calm down, raced again for an entirely different reason.

Cyclopes.

She curled into a ball, trying to make herself seem as small and unthreatening as possible. She was going to be eaten. She was going to die. She should have never come here, she should have stayed home—

“Get away from her!”

Annabeth flinched, there was another, more intelligent Cyclopes about to eat her. She began to pray to the gods.

_I’m sorry, please make it fast. I’m sorry I failed you all. You expected me to save you. I’m not worthy to be your champion. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m…_

“Are you an _idiot_?” an angry voice asked and she hesitantly opened one of her eyes. She saw legs covered in chainmail. She closed her eyes again. That didn’t sound like a Cyclopes… that voice belonged to a young man. “Don’t you know that these woods are infested with Cyclopes? I had to abandon my comrades because of you! And they’re out there fighting!” Rough but gentle hands took her arms. Annabeth’s eyes snapped open.

“Don’t eat me!” she shouted, pushing the man away. She pushed herself against the tree, holding her hands out in a defensive gesture.

“What?!” the voice, the man, sounded surprised. “I don’t eat little girls! I don’t even eat humans! And I just saved you!”

Annabeth breathed heavily and looked at the stranger’s face. Angular, and his lips looked chapped in the moonlight. She let her gaze travel up, closer to his eyes. She hoped he wasn’t a Cyclopes.

Her breath caught in her throat and she suddenly forgot how to breathe. No… he certainly wasn’t a Cyclopes. The most gorgeous pair of green eyes she had ever seen stared right back at her. They were so deep that Annabeth could almost see the storm behind them, brewing in their depths.

“I… I didn’t know.”

“Obviously.”

She forgot all about his eyes at his tone of voice and she launched herself at him, poking him in his armored chest. “Now you just wait a moment. How do I know you’re not planning to hurt me?”

He sent her a look that clearly asked, _are you stupid_? “I just saved you from a Cyclopes, missy.”

Annabeth clenched her fists at her side, “Don’t you _missy_ me.” She said it with a biting tone, “And I’m _not_ a little girl. I’m seventeen summers.”

The boy stared at her, “You _act_ like a ten year old with the way you cowered away from the Cyclopes.”

Annabeth threw her hands up in the air and let out a sound of exasperation escape her lips. “Who are you anyway?”

“Percy.”

Annabeth raised an eyebrow, nothing else? He held himself like a general would: shoulders back, head held high. “I’m Annabeth, princess of Greece.”

The boy, Percy, made a sound as if he had just caught his breath abruptly. “I should’ve realized.” He rubbed the area between his eyebrows, as if he was fighting an oncoming headache. Annabeth pressed her lips together tight.

“What?”

Percy shook his head, as if he was clearing a bad thought from his head. “Never mind. Come on, let’s get back to that valley.” He began to walk, clearly expecting her to follow but she glanced down at her ankle. It wasn’t hurting at the moment, but she had a feeling if she put weight on it…

She gently pressed it against the ground and cringed. Bad sprain. But at least it wasn’t broken.

“Are you coming, princess?” Annabeth narrowed her vision on Percy as he came back. The way he said the normally honorary title… it was like he was mocking her.

“No.” she answered flatly. Percy tilted his head, his eyes flashing with an emotion she hadn’t associated with him yet. Concern. Annabeth turned her head away, lifting her nose in the air as she crossed her arms. There was something different about Percy. Although he was obviously a stuck up Roman.

“Why not? Are you hurt?”

Annabeth clenched her fists around her arms tighter as she began to think obscenities, all of which were directed at him. He shook his head lightly and his eyes went down toward her feet. They widened and Annabeth shifted. Why did he look like that?

“Don’t you Greeks wear shoes?”

Annabeth forgot about staying aloof. “Of course we do! I just didn’t have time to put them on.”

“Oh, I see. So you just decided to take a pleasant stroll through the monster infected forest.”

“It doesn’t seem very ‘monster infested’.”

She was practically spitting the words out and she focused on those dark eyes. What in Tartarus had she been thinking earlier? They weren’t gorgeous, they were mysterious. And dark. And green. And ever changing and—no. She was going to get _married to the next Caesar._ She was _not_ going to let a little-possible crush get in her way!

Percy took a step back and she suddenly realized that their chests had been brushing. Her cheeks felt warm.

“Are you _always_ this argumentative?” he tilted his head, his lips twitching for the first time since she had met him. Annabeth huffed and looked at the ground.

“Just shut up and help me.”

Percy’s eyebrows shot up for half a second then went back into their normal position. Annabeth made sure she was still scowling as he walked up to her and…

Huh?

“You’re supposed to jump on my back.” Percy instructed patiently. Annabeth bit her bottom lip and she wrapped her arms around his neck and then her legs around his waist. She knew what this was, but she hadn’t done it since she was a child. After all, it was improper.

 _Go to Hades,_ Annabeth thought at her thoughts, pushing them back. So what if it wasn’t proper? She couldn’t walk. Percy stood up abruptly, making her yelp and wrap her arms around his neck tighter.

“You’re, choking me, princess.” He coughed but still somehow kept that mocking tone. Annabeth briefly considered tightening her arms around him, but decided against it. She needed him to take her back so she could meet back up with her party.

So, they walked on in comfortable silence.

* * *

 


	2. Capvt II: The Spark

Capvt II: The Spark

**Annabeth**   
_Spring, x170 BC_

* * *

Annabeth let out a sigh of relief when she saw the clearing. She honestly was surprised at how far she ended up running, it had taken Percy quite a long time to get back to the edge of the forestry… after a little bit of backtracking.

She was relieved that the sounds of fighting had stopped, and all she could hear was the birds in the distance whistling and Percy breathing. He was actually warmer than she had at first realized, but not uncomfortably so.

Actually, she had sort of been expecting him to be cold like his personality.

Annabeth slid off his back carefully, not alerting anyone to their presence. The camp seemed to be fuller, but she had a suspicion that it was due to Percy's party… oh, she hoped no one had been injured too badly. She could smell blood in the air and she could see leftover monster dust. An arm went out and Annabeth tilted her head at it, so, Percy was considerate?

She took it, nearly gasping as her whole arm felt like it had been struck by lightning and then it traveled all over her body, leaving her ears ringing.

"You alright?" Percy was staring at her, one of his eyebrows raised and Annabeth nodded, trying to get her body under control. What the Hades was  _that_?

"Fine."

He nodded and they walked over toward the camp.

"Annabeth!" a familiar voice shouted and she looked up from her staring contest with the ground. Thalia ran in front of her, stopping the two of them as her roamed up and down her body. They went wide. "You're hurt! We thought we lost you when Jason said that place was infested with monsters."

Percy shot her a look, like,  _I told you so!_ Annabeth ignored it, focusing on Thalia who seemed to have calmed down. "I'm fine, Thalia."

Thalia rolled her eyes and turned toward Percy. "Thanks for saving her, sir. I hope she wasn't too much trouble."

Annabeth narrowed her eyes at him when he snorted. "It's just Percy." He didn't offer a reply to the later statement. Thalia's eyes widened and Annabeth shifted when her eyes flashed over to her then back at Percy.

"Wait so you're..." she clapped her hands over her mouth and Annabeth felt question marks dance around in her head and probably all over her face too. Percy stepped away from Annabeth, rubbing the back of his neck. Annabeth wonder why the air was suddenly felt chilly.

Thalia shook her head and her gaze went back on Annabeth. "You know, maybe we should have kept you here with us. You've got more injuries than all of us combined." She raised her eyes to the sky and walked up to her. Annabeth snorted, of course her luck would be that bad. "Come on, let's get you patched up." She sighed and wrapped one of Annabeth's arms around her neck and shoulders. Percy took the other side.

"We'll have to get back to Roma soon," he sounded tired for some reason. "The Caesar is expecting us back soon, and we're already running late."

Thalia glanced at him and smirked. "Jason said your comrades ready to go back to Tartarus."

Percy, for the first time, let out a sound that sounded like a short laugh. "I see his sense of humor is as sharp as always. Tell him I'm coming."

After Annabeth sat down on one of the logs, Percy smiled briefly at her and bowed. "I'll see you again, princess." There was still a mocking edge to it, but Annabeth found she didn't mind it for once. She was confused about how it sounded like a promise, there was no guarantee they would see each other.

But, she nodded her head in return. "If you say so."

She tried to ignore the way the pale-skinned woman glared at her as Percy waved over his shoulder and disappeared into the night.

It was in that moment Annabeth realized he only had four other people with him.

* * *

They were finally here, after over a season of travel. They had left when the leaves were changing colors. Now they were here, when the flowers started to bloom.

So why did Annabeth feel like she was marching toward her funeral? She should feel excited, ready to leap up and down in joy while screeching at the top of her lungs. Maybe a little nervous too, but she shouldn't feel this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Who goes there?" the sentry's eyes were hard as he stared over her party. Annabeth swallowed hard. Would any of her friends be hurt? Luke? Thalia? Nico? Piper? Leo? Maybe even Beckendorf or Silena? She pulled the hood away from her face and lifted it so she could stare at him in the eye.

"Princess Annabeth of Greece," she was surprised at how steady it sounded, despite the way she wanted to burst into tears and hide behind Luke or Thalia like she when she was a little girl. But she  _wasn't_ a little girl. No matter what Percy said.

"Princess!" his eyes were huge as he clumsily got to one knee. Annabeth shook her head quickly and stepped forward, holding her hand down toward him. He stared at her hand, as if he didn't know what to do, before he reached out and took it. Annabeth ignored how weak it was and pulled him to his feet.

"In my home, we simply nod our heads." She let her lips curl into a smile and the man blinked a couple of times, as if he wasn't used to such a reaction. The smile slipped, what had she gotten into? Maybe she should have taken up Luke's offer on running away… but it was too late now. "May we go in?" She jerked her head back toward her comrades, indicating them. The man's face resembled a fish.

"Uh… n-names please?"

Annabeth ignored the stutter. "Luke, son of Hermes, Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Nico, son of Hades, Piper, daughter of Aphrodite, Silena, daughter of Aphrodite, Beckendorf, son of Hephaestus, Will, son of Apollo…" and she went on, listing the names of the guards until she got to the youngest, a girl of barely twelve summers and who had stowed away with them. "Astoria, but she's not claimed yet."

The man smiled down at Astoria with a hint of sympathy in his eyes before back at Annabeth. "What about you? Don't you have a godly parent?"

Annabeth shook her head, "I don't even know if I'm fully mortal or a demigod."

The man nodded, as if he had suspected that and stepped aside. "May the gods be with you.  _Ave!_ "

* * *

As soon as she stepped inside of the Eternal City, Annabeth was whisked away by female strangers. They may have looked weak, but they were strong. Luckily, Thalia, Piper and Silena managed to keep up with the giggling maids, so Annabeth wasn't alone in the dark.

They pulled her into a room and put a piece of cloth over her eyes. A gentle hand went on her shoulder and Annabeth allowed herself to be pulled into pulled into a warmer area. She knew the moment she stepped inside of Roma, she would be ushered off and fitted into her wedding toga. She hoped it wouldn't fall off during the ceremony, that would be embarrassing.

Her travelling clothes were pulled off her shoulders and they fell to the ground. Annabeth shivered as the cool air hit her full blast, but the women either didn't notice it or didn't care.

"It'll have to be made smaller around the waist, Gwen." The woman sounded older, perhaps in her mid-twenties?

"I hope this goes over well… Roma and Greece have been on bad terms lately…."

"I know."

"How about flowers in her hair? Like the laurel?"

"Can't, remember the crown?"

Annabeth felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her, too much Aphrodite in this room. It felt like she had just spent the time between sunrise and sunset with the goddess. The chattering died down until there was none and the atmosphere was serious as something was slipped over her shoulders.

More poking, and the dress tightened around her waist and her chest, but the skirt part stayed the same. A hand guided her again until she was sitting down on something. A stool?

"Promise you won't peak while we do your hair?" The one Annabeth thought was Gwen asked. She nodded and the blindfold came off her eyes. Hands went through her hair and she heard several people clucking their tongues. Piper appeared in front of her and Annabeth bit her bottom lip.

"How do I look?"

Piper smiled, but a tear fell down her cheeks. "Gorgeous."

* * *

Annabeth took a deep breath as she stared at the doors that at any moment could open. When that happened, her fate would be sealed. There would be no turning back. There had been no turning back since she got to the city gates. She was to be married to the heir of Roma.

Was he going to be a pervert, like Luke suggested? Would he be kind or cruel? Would she even like him? Would he hate her? Would he hit her? Would he hurt her? Was he young? Was he old? Was he her age? Was he…

"There's no turning back now, is there?" a voice at her side sighed and Annabeth looked at Luke.

"Sorry I dragged you into this."

Luke snorted, "I would've come anyway." A snort rose in her but she choked it back down through sheer willpower. Of course he would come, he was  _Luke_ for gods' sake! He would always come, even though she may not want him to. Especially when she didn't want him to, like that time when she was hanging out with that boy and he thought poor Conner was making a move on her. He was  _way_ too overprotective.

She paused and turned toward him, her heart thumping wildly. "Luke, thank you."

Luke's lips turned downward as his eyebrows furrowed together. "What have I done?"

Annabeth let her lips curl up as a huff rose through her. "Everything." she quickly pecked him on the cheek before she turned back to the doors. The beginning of a slow song was starting. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Luke stepped away from her and melted back into the shadows like Nico did. Had Nico taught him how to do that?

"Goodbye, princess." His voice whispered from the shadows and Annabeth let her gaze fall to the ground. The way he said that, it was like he was saying goodbye forever. Perhaps he was, in a way. She wouldn't be just the princess of Greece after this, she would be the Heir Apparent of Roma as well, and she had a strange feeling in her stomach. It wasn't like she was jittery and she felt like she was about to throw up. Nor was it like the time where she had screamed at her father when he had announced she was going to be married. No, it was more like that time when the gods appeared in that dream and announced her as their champion. Whatever that meant.

The doors swung open.

Annabeth took a deep breath, why was her breathing picking up? Why did she feel like she was about to burst into tears? She should be smiling, perhaps laughing. But now, it took all of her willpower to not frown.

_"Papa, papa!"_

_"What is it, Annabeth?"_

_"Nurse read me a story about a prince and princess who fell in love! I wanna fall in love too!"_

_"Not anytime soon I hope!"_

Annabeth had an odd urge to laugh and cry at the memory. That had been when she was very young, maybe six or seven, and it was before her father had started to pull away from her. It looked like she wouldn't get what she wanted after all.

She began the long walk down the aisle, studying the way her hands were clasped in front of her. She couldn't look up at the person she was supposed to marry, not yet. She didn't have the courage to.

There were the steps. Should she look up now? Before she had decided, a tan hand appeared in her vision and Annabeth blinked. It didn't belong to an old person, so that was off. Would he be a pervert though?

Annabeth gulped and took his hand, a familiar but strange sensation shot through her, like it had a couple of nights ago when she met Percy. It felt like a thousand bolts of lightning had went through her, but they didn't hurt her. They sent her heart pounding and the blood rushed around in her head, leaving her ears ringing yet again. And there was only one person she knew who had done that…

She looked up.

Annabeth was sure she resembled a fish in that moment as she stared at his familiar face. He looked different in the daylight, but she would recognize those eyes anywhere. "You!" she hissed, trying to force down the urge to punch and scream and cry. Why in Hades did she feel that way? She didn't really know him, so why-

"I'm not  _that_ ugly."

Annabeth wondered if it was possible to shoot daggers with her eyes as Percy led them up to the priest. "You didn't tell me you were the Heir Apparent!" she muttered through her clenched teeth. Oh, how she wished she could get her hands around his neck right at that moment…

"Yeah, well,  _technically_ we shouldn't have met until now."

Was it possible to stomp on his foot without anyone noticing? "Still! You could have at least  _hinted_ at it." she tightened her hold on his hand and hoped it hurt. Percy's blank expression wavered for a moment and Annabeth resisted the urge to smirk.

"I'm thinking I should have."

"Dearly beloved, we are here today…"

Annabeth blocked the priest's droning voice out and focused on Percy. "What's that supposed to mean?" She wished she could cross her arms, but seeing as Percy was holding both of her hands, that was impossible.

"Well, you're arguing with me like a little girl would." He obviously put the little in there to annoy her more. Annabeth couldn't repress the growl.

"I'm  _not_ a little girl."

Percy stared at her, "Of  _course_ not."

"Don't mock me!"

He smirked and, if it was possible, that was more annoying than the mocking tone. Annabeth could just  _see_  that he was a trouble maker. She decided to put that on her mental list of things that made Percy annoying… it was beginning to become very long. "You really don't like being called little, do you?"

Annabeth nearly stomped her foot, but she remembered where they were. Plus, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was getting her annoyed enough to react like that. "No, I was teased for being short when I was little though."

Percy lifted an eyebrow, but he didn't comment on it.

"Perseus," Percy turned toward the priest, and Annabeth suddenly realized she had no idea where they were in the ceremony. She glanced around and noticed the Caesar was walking up to them, holding a crown with the design of golden leaves. She knew they were close to the end of the ceremony.

She moved her gaze back to the priest, who was smiling slightly, as if he was amused by something. Annabeth bit back a curse, he must have realized they were arguing. "Do you agree for this woman to be by your side, for as long as you both shall live?"

Percy glanced at Annabeth, and she wondered for a heartbeat if he was going to say no. Then what would happen? "I do."

Annabeth wondered why she felt so relieved and maybe even happy. The priest turned toward Annabeth, "And do you agree for this man to be by your side, for as long as you both shall live?"

She hesitated for half a heartbeat before she nodded. For her people, for her people. "I do."

The priest smiled and Annabeth suddenly felt like she had made the right decision. The Caesar, Percy's father apparently, walked up to Annabeth, holding the crown of golden leaves in his hands gently, as if it was about to break. She stared into those hard eyes, as dark as the night. They weren't anything like Percy's, which were as ever-changing as the sea. These were hard and cold, they were the eyes of a killer. They were the eyes of a tyrant. And those eyes didn't match his scarecrow body.

"Caesar Octavius," the priest didn't meet the Caesar's eyes as he held his hands out. Percy released one of Annabeth's hands, but he held the other. Annabeth glanced at her… husband almost on instinct and noticed he looked a little paler.

The Caesar nodded at the priest and placed the crown in his hands before he turned to Percy. "I'm proud of you, Perseus."

Percy made an odd face, as if he was hiding a grimace. "Thank you, pater."

The Caesar smiled and turned to Annabeth. She froze at the way his eyes seemed to pierce into her soul and strip her naked. This stare wasn't like the dark haired woman's, this was much more predatory. It was as if he was trying to see all of her weakness to exploit them. He removed his heavy stare from Annabeth and she nearly let out a sigh of relief escape. Perhaps that was why Percy had been so pale.

He held it out to the anointer, who took it gently.

He turned back to Annabeth and lifted the crown. With a startle, Annabeth realized she was down on one knee already. When had that happened? A hand squeezed her and she realized it was Percy… why would he do that?

The anointer began the end of the ceremony. "Will you defend the kingdom?"

She nodded, "I will."

"Will you maintain the laws of the empire?"

"I will."

"Will you maintain justice?"

"I will."

Annabeth bowed her head a little as he got to the end of the passage and began to lower the crown. No more. No more would she be Princess Annabeth of Greece. No more would she have very little responsibility. She would be the Heir Apparent of Roma. She would be expected to... birth an heir.

The thought almost made her throw up.

Suddenly, there was a slight weight on her head and Percy was helping her up. She couldn't think. She felt numb all over. All she could was follow his lead, and hope Percy didn't do or say anything stupid. (She refused to listen to the tiny voice nagging at saying it was the opposite way around.)

"Ave! Heir Apparent Annabeth of Greece!"

The crown of golden leaves rested on her head, and suddenly it felt a little heavier.


	3. Capvt II: To Trandescend Prejudice

Capvt III: To Trandscend Prejudice

**Annabeth**   
_Spring, x176 BC_

* * *

Okay, so  _maybe_ she was scared to death about the consummation of marriage.  _Maybe_ she was worried about not being good enough.

Annabeth walked with her hair loose and barefooted to the chambers which she would share, yes,  _share_ , with Percy. If Roma wasn't strange enough, there was this tradition where the husband and wife would share their chambers. Unlike back in Greece, where there would be two chambers joined and then the husband would…

Never mind. Stop thinking about it. It'll be over sooner that way.

She stared at the door toward Percy's chambers and raised her hand, Piper's instructions ringing through her head as her friend got her ready. Annabeth had always wondered why she wasn't a hunter with the way she talked about stuff like that. Now, Annabeth wished she  _was_ a hunter of Artemis—at least she would be safe.

Of course, she would probably end up regretting it eventually.

Annabeth shook her head and placed her hand on the doorknob. She would be brave, she would be strong. She turned the doorknob, preparing for the sight of him completely—

His chambers were a pigsty.

Annabeth felt her eyebrow twitch as she took in the empty chambers. It looked like a hurricane had hit them. Dirty clothes were strewn all over and apple cores were on the ground. The bed wasn't even made!

"How in Hades does someone  _live_ in this?" Annabeth found herself a little awed despite herself as she carefully stepped inside of it. The door closed behind her with a loud bang and she cringed. That was an omen if she ever saw one, but she didn't know if it was a good one or bad.

Carefully, she lifted the skirts of her nightdress and stood on her tippy-toes, trying to avoid stepping on the ground as much as possible. She leaned down and picked the core to a fruit (it certainly wasn't an apple) and gagged as she held it as far away from her face as she could.

If she was going to live here, it was going to be at least  _sanitary_.

* * *

Annabeth nodded to herself in satisfaction a little while later, sitting on the made up bed. She had cleaned it up as best as she could, even if there was a stain in the rug that looked like honey.

Once she had cleaned it up, she had been pleasantly surprised. It actually was a nice chamber: fairly spacious, with daybed and a wardrobe and tables on the ends of the beds and a chest at the bottom of it. There was also a balcony to see the streets of Roma, though that would be more useful during the daytime.

She had ended up kicking Percy's clothes to the side of the room, while throwing the fruit cores in something that looked like a bowel, but thinner and taller. The walls of the chamber were the color of the sea, while the ceiling was a simple white. The covers on the bed were a design similar to the laurel crown she wore, except they were green and silver along with gold colored trimming that reminded her of the crown. The wardrobe, too, had gold for its trim, but the wood was red. The end tables were made out of redwood, too, and there was gold for the trimmings, along with the couch.

Percy seemed to like red and gold, but Annabeth had to admit she liked the blue more. Something about the color was calming; perhaps that was why he chose it.

The doors suddenly opened slowly and closed. Annabeth's head shot up, she had just started to relax. Percy stood in front of them, frowning a little as if he was angry or worried over something. Annabeth didn't know what it was, but she knew both would probably be worse for her.

"P-Perseus?" she wanted to slap a hand on her mouth. Not only had she stuttered, but she had drawn attention to herself. Perseus glanced up and met her gaze, and then those eyes narrowed. He strode across the room with soft yet loud footsteps, the air filled with tension and Annabeth dropped her gaze back on the floor. Her heart raced, and her fingers felt numb. She wanted to cry too.

A rough hand suddenly grabbed hold of her chin and forced her face up so she had to meet those dark eyes. They looked like a rough sea, when a storm was thundering through it. The waves would jump up fifteen, twenty feet and Annabeth would feel very,  _very_ seasick.

"Don't."

Annabeth's stomach clenched, and a few tears popped into her eyes against her will, "Don't what, my lord?" she decided it would be safer for her if she was polite. Apparently, that was her mistake. His grip tightened around her chin, to the point it was almost painful.

" _Don't_  call me Perseus or 'my lord'. I get enough of that from everyone else."

Annabeth tried to nod, but the way he was holding her face made it impossible. Percy seemed to realize that, because he pulled his hand away but not his body. Annabeth massaged her chin reflexively.

"Fine, idiot."

One of Percy's eyebrows shot up at her insult, as if he was surprised that she still had her sharp tongue handy. To be honest, Annabeth was a little surprised herself. Idiot certainly wasn't her best insult, though that was the first word that came into her mind when she thought of Percy. "What?"

"You act like an idiot." She crossed her arms over her chest defensively, and Percy blinked a couple of times, as if he was confused over her mood swing. He coughed and his eyes roamed around the room, obviously just realizing it looked, different.

"…what happened to it?" Percy sounded breathless and Annabeth couldn't resist beaming at him. He turned to her and raised the eyebrow again. Annabeth was beginning to realize that was one of main expressions, along with smirking and the blank face. She didn't know which one was the most annoying.

"I cleaned it up."

Percy's other eyebrow shot up but his lips were twitching slightly, as if he was resisting the urge to smile. Perhaps he was human after all.

"Really?" she wondered if he was stupid and he rubbed the back of his neck. She added that to her list of  _Percy's Human Gestures_ , which was still very short. Her other list of  _Percy's Human Emotions_  had nothing on it, other than 'being annoying' while the list of Percy's annoying habits was already getting long…

"Only you would do something like this on our wedding night, Annabeth." He shook his head and she thought she heard a chuckle, but it was too faint for her to hear it properly. Besides, her ears had began to ring again and her knees suddenly felt a little weak. All of her blood rushed to her brain, or at least, it felt like that and she swallowed hard.

"Hey, you alright?" he waved a hand in front of her face, his eyebrows furrowing together and Annabeth wondered if he had forgotten, though that was impossible. Shouldn't that have been on his mind? "Oh." His eyes widened, as if he just realized something and he took a step away from her. " _Oh!_ Sorry!"

She wrapped her arms around herself. Why did he apologize? After all, it wasn't like he wasn't about to take her virtue. He might as well get it done as quickly as possible, because according to Piper, men _never_  apologized for that kind of stuff… nor should they. Though Percy had already proved one of her closest friends wrong already, when he hadn't assaulted her immediately…

"It's alright." She said.

Silence fell between the two of them, but Annabeth wasn't if that was a good sign. With her luck, it would probably be the opposite.

"Let's talk."

She jumped as she realized Percy was sitting on the bed, patting the space next to him. Biting her lip, she did what she was ordered to do and sat next to Percy, attempting to take as little space as she had to.

Percy fiddled with his fingers for a moment, looking just as awkward as she felt scared. He didn't look at her, but his ears were a little red. His stare was distant and unfocused, as if he could see something she couldn't. Annabeth began to chew on her bottom lip.

And then he spoke up.

"We're married," Annabeth raised an eyebrow, but she nodded anyways when he looked at her. This was definitely not the direction she thought her wedding night would go toward, although that necessarily wasn't a bad thing… "We cannot change that. Today, I promised to take care of you until I die and I don't go back on my word." Annabeth tilted her head as she slowly released herself from the ball. His eyes were directed at the wall now.

"So, from today on, you and I are linked forever." He paused, "And forever is a  _very_ long time. I know a few married couples who hate each other because they were forced to get married, or never tried to get along and I don't want this. If you and I are going to stay by each other's sides, I think I have to know you first and vice-versa."

Annabeth found herself staring at him; this… was definitely not what she was expecting. "And, how do we do that?" She found herself asking despite herself, even though a thousand possibilities had flashed through her mind in a moment.

Percy glanced at her and smiled slightly. A smile tugged at her lips despite, as if his was contagious. It probably was. "Well…" he looked up at the ceiling, still smiling a little and the blush had resided away from his ears, "I think we have to talk or something." He shrugged. "I mean, that's the fastest way of knowing each other, right?"

Annabeth's heart started to slow down to its normal beat, but questions were beginning to stir in her mind and her heart was doing something funny. Plus, her stomach was clenching. "Why are you doing this?" She asked quietly, and she wondered if this was a dream. A wonderfully bizarre dream.

He looked confused, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well… it is our wedding night… wouldn't it be considered improper, not to?" She weighed her words carefully, trying to get the meaning of them across to him, but not directly saying the 'S'-word. Percy looked confused for a moment, before he turned as white as a sheet of papyrus.

"Oh. That." He scratched the back of his head, "Well… I'd prefer to be friends with my wife before doing of that. And I'm not letting my pater or the Senate say otherwise."

A careful smile made its way on Annabeth's lips, "Thank you." She whispered, bowing her head. There was a hand on her shoulder, and she peered up at Percy. He had a beautiful grin on his face, silly and dorky, and not at all what a future Caesar of Roma should have. But it was definitely him. She blinked.

"No problem." There was an odd light in his eyes, almost as if he was happier than she could ever know, and he got up from the bed. "Let's get some sleep. We can talk some more tomorrow."

She glanced from him to the bed the back at him, and his grin softened into a smile. He took a pillow, and Annabeth frowned unconsciously.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice cheerful. "You get the bed and I'll take the couch until we agree otherwise." He pointed at the daybed, and her eyes widened. It should be the other way around, this was his home, not hers.

"I can take the couch, I don't mind."

He rolled his eyes, "Of course not." There was an edge of sarcasm in his voice, and Annabeth narrowed his eyes at him. He held his hands up. "I know you think the couch is not comfortable, but it is. To tell the truth, sometimes I just sleep there when I'm too tired to get under the covers."

Annabeth peered at him suspiciously, looking for any signs he was telling a lie. Twitching, blinking, nervous expression, all of it. But all she saw was open honesty on his face.

"Are you sure?" she asked hesitantly, then yelped as one of the pillows smacked her in the face. She caught it quickly and narrowed her eyes at Percy, who was wearing an all-to-mischievous expression that reminded her of Luke when he was about to pull a prank.

He took another pillow, and Annabeth prepared to whack him with the one he gave her. "Of course I am, Annabeth. If you ask that again, I will whack you with another pillow."

She sighed at his completely serious—well, almost completely serious—expression, but waited until he had placed the pillow on his daybed before she stretched out and got under the covers. Then she noticed he didn't have a blanket, so she got out of the covers and grabbed one from the pile of them she had made on the bottom of the bed and threw it at him. He caught it without looking, then he glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled.

"Thanks."

"No problem," she echoed his previous reply and his smile turned secretive as he laid out on his daybed. She sighed and got back under the covers.

Her eyes were already slipping shut, she realized with a little startle. She hadn't realized she was  _that_ tired. But there was still one thing she had to do… "G'night, Percy." She whispered.

His form went stiff under the blanket, then it relaxed. "Sweet dreams, Annabeth." His voice was tired, but she had a feeling it wasn't because he was physically tired, somehow.

Annabeth knew she should feel worried or surprised or confused that she already was getting to know her husband well enough to know a couple of his moods, but all she felt was a sort of sleepy contentment and a strange warmth filled her.

Perhaps Romans weren't so bad after all.


	4. Capvt IV: Iridescence

Capvt IV: Iridescence

**Annabeth**   
_Spring, x176 BC_

* * *

**Iridescent:** showing many colors

* * *

"Annabeth…"

_Annabeth looked up from the surface she had been sitting on and peered into the white mist. Her eyes narrowed and her heart began to pound rapidly under her chest—ba-boom, ba-boom, b-ba-boom, boom, ba-boom._

_There was a gust of wind that blew her hair across her face, though she was in a place that was suspended in time and space, and the mist cleared. A tall, black haired woman was walking toward her, grim-faced as ever._

_She stood up and curtsied, lowering her head so that she would not have to look into the goddess' gray eyes. "Mother," she greeted, forcing her voice to stay steady and unemotional._

_"Rise," Athena commanded in a dead voice. Annabeth lifted her head slowly, just in case the woman was angry for some reason. She could never be sure with her mother._

_"Why are you here? Why have you come into my conscious? My lady?" she added the last part hastily, realizing her tone had been less than respectful, and the goddess' lips twitched for a moment before her face became hard._

_"Have a guess, Annabeth. You are not that unintelligent."_

_Annabeth scowled for a moment, trying not to cross her arms as that would show defiance. It wasn't exactly her fault father had decided that reading and writing and mathematics were useless skills for a girl—even if she was a daughter of Athena—and instead stuck her with the ladies of the court. It wasn't exactly her fault that the only thing she really knew was how to keep her mouth shut and to crochet. Oh, and how to gossip—even if that made her feel like she was about to explode._

_She held her hand up and let her wrist face Athena, showing her the dark lines of the owl that had been burned into her skin… very much against her consent. "Does it have something to do with_ this _?"_

_"Do not tell me you are still bitter over something so trivial."_

_"_ Trivial?  _You burned a permanent_ thing  _in my skill—against my consent, and even after I told you not to!" Annabeth didn't mention the burning pain that had almost knocked her into a coma. She hadn't been able to properly use that hand, which had caused some very awkward questions. But it wasn't like she could say her crazy mother had decided to burn some permanent black ink into her wrist. Oh, and she had 'visions' of Athena ever since she was a child._

_"Enough with this!" Athena's voice turned piercing, and her gray eyes turned a shade darker. "You are being melodramatic."_

_Annabeth pressed her lips together, trying not to say something she knew she would regret later._ One, two, three, four, five…  _she counted inside of her head, and once she reached ten she let out a huff._

_"I have a feeling it has something to do with the Mark of Athena."_

_Athena shook her head slowly and smiled. It wasn't mischievous like Lord Hermes', it was colder, crueler… more calculating, like she had just figured out how to checkmate Lord Poseidon in a game of chess (the sea god was almost as good as Athena herself at chess)._

_"Nay. It has to do with your destiny."_

_"Which one?" Annabeth snorted derisively before she could help herself. "The Champion of Olympus one? Or the Mark of Athena one?"_

_"You know you have many more destinies than just that."_

_Annabeth half raised her foot off the ground before she caught herself—she was not childish. "That's_ so  _helpful, mother."_

_Her mother began to pace, her purple cloak trailing out behind her over the gold chiton, the picture of grace and dignity. Also the picture of exasperation, though._

_"It has to do with you being the Champion of Olympus—though I have doubts about that happening." Athena stopped to eye Annabeth, and she glanced down at herself. Barefooted (as always, Percy had a point about that), clean, white, nearly see-through nightgown and overall plain ol' Annabeth. Yup. She could tell why her mother would think that._

_"Mother," she reminded Athena politely. The goddess arched an eyebrow._

_"Annabeth," she mimicked in the same tone. "As I said, it has something to do with you being_ one  _of the Champions of Olympus."_

_"I have no idea what you're talking about now." Annabeth said honestly and quite serenely, in her high opinion. "Please, mother, elaborate."_

_"Your husband."_

_Annabeth sat up straighter, "What about Percy?"_

_"It is his destiny to be the founding father of Rome—the footsteps in which future generations will follow in. It is his destiny to bring upon us one of the greatest empires to mankind."_

_"Let me guess, there's a twist." Annabeth said sarcastically, already sensing the_ but _. Athena nodded, her lips curling up in a rarely non-mocking smile of Annabeth's poor education._

_"There is. Octavius has a great influence on him."_

_"So, it is my destiny to break that influence?"_

_"Not quite, my daughter. You are destined to be… oh, what is that saying? Ah, I got it. You are one side of the coin—he is the other. There is a similar prophecy, how a child of Hecate is to advise one of the greatest mortal kings of Brittania—that their deeds will be so great, that it will become legendary and will be known about until the ends of time itself. Like Shakespeare or Queen Elizabeth."_

_"You're talking nonsense to me again, mother." Annabeth remarked humorously. Athena looked up into the white expanse for a half second, before her gaze bored into hers. Annabeth felt like her mother was looking into her soul, reading everything about what made her, Annabeth—and Annabeth could not let her down._

_She shifted._

_"I will try to put this into simpler terms for your inferior mind." Athena finally said, letting out a great sigh, as if she was doing Annabeth a great favor. However, that made Annabeth bite her tongue—her mother was a goddess, an arrogant one, granted, but a goddess nonetheless. She would not like being talked back to._

_"Perseus is meant to be one of Rome's greatest leaders—like Odysseus great. But he is being held back by his own fears, by Octavius' influence on his mind. Which is where you come in—you will be there to guide him,_ gently _, to see that everything he believes in is wrong. It will take many years, full of ups and downs, trust and betrayals, tears and laughter… but you will get there. Granted, he will cause a great empire to collapse, but another one will rise in its wake."_

_"Greece?" she asked softly, feeling a strange squeezing in her chest, but she wasn't particularly surprised. It was as if… some part of her knew about this. Athena nodded._

_"Do not despair. The fall of Greece has been foretold since the beginnings of time— Athens and Sparta have made the kingdom unstable."_

_Annabeth sighed and nodded. Athena pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing slightly and Annabeth stood up straighter._

_"I fear you will disappoint me and the Olympians," her tone was full of warning as she turned and walked back into the white mist, her skirts sweeping behind her with an elegance only royalty could manage. The mist started to descend on Annabeth, but she did not remove her eyes from the queen of wisdom._

_Sometimes, her life was utterly unfair. She never asked for this to happen. She didn't even want some kind of messed up destiny._

_But… she wanted to prove Athena wrong. Maybe it was her pride getting in the way, or her stubbornness, but she didn't like the way Athena had not given her a chance._

_Annabeth licked her lips and hardened her resolve._

_"I_ will  _prove you wrong."_

* * *

With those words, Annabeth's eyes snapped open. Gray light leaked through the large window, making the shadows look longer than usual. Her limbs were stiff, too, though she was laying across something soft…

 _Where am I?_ She wondered, pushing herself up carefully. Her arm felt like it was about to collapse on her, making her body crash down on the unusually soft surface. Actually, the last time she had been on a surface this so was nearly a year ago…

White. Annabeth was on something white—and soft. Very soft. And she wasn't outside, sleeping under the stars with the wind in her face and the grass prickling into her back. Oh, and rain. Can't forget the rain.

In fact, she was someone's chambers… not hers, of course—hers were a simple gray color with a dark blue as the accent color on one wall. In fact, it was rather strange… this room was a light blue… and there was soft, red wood on the ground… and there was someone on the daybed…

It all came back to Annabeth in a flood. How her father had announced she was going to be married to the Heir Apparent of Rome, since it was the will of the gods'. The seasons of travel, first by horse, then by boat and finally by foot. How she met Percy during that raid. Rome itself. Finding out just who Percy was. His wife… Heir Apparent…

How he didn't…  _do_ anything to her.

Annabeth fell back onto the fluffy white things where she had placed her head on. She suddenly felt very dizzy and maybe a little sick to her stomach as she remembered their conversation last night.  _How_? Why? She knew he had to have another motive other than just wanting to get to know her better. After all, he was  _Roman_ …

Her mother's words from the dream last night resonated inside of her. Maybe Percy… really was… meant to be one of the forefathers of Rome. Maybe it was destiny. Or maybe it was something more…

Maybe she was wrong to hate Romans, even though they were the archenemy of Greece.

There was a loud creaking sound, even though it also sounded like it was slow—like the person behind it was trying not to make it creak. Annabeth jerked her head up, in time to see a scrawny looking boy come in.

Wait… he wasn't… not entirely…

"You're half donkey!" Annabeth yelped, "You're a satyr!"

The satyr's head jerked and his eyes rounded to the size of saucers. One of the logs tumbled off the top of the pile, as if in slow motion, but the satyr didn't even seem to register it.

"I'm half  _goat_ ," he finally said in a sarcastic monotone, if that was possible. Too late, Annabeth remembered how much Gleeson hated being called half donkey—which she had been fond of when she was little…

"Sorry?" she offered. The satyr tilted his head, his face not revealing anything, but Annabeth got the feeling that he was trying to see if she meant what he had said. It wasn't the same intensity as Athena, but it still made Annabeth feel uncomfortable…

"It doesn't matter," the satyr muttered after a few tense heartbeats. He tilted his head and Annabeth studied the ground. When she looked back up, the satyr had started to pile the wood in the heath.

Half of it was gone now…

Almost all of it…

The silence was so thick Annabeth though she could shatter it by slicing a dagger through the air.

"I'm Annabeth." She said the first thing that popped into her mind. The satyr stiffened for a moment, his hands stilling as he placed the last log onto the heath, and then he released it slowly. Annabeth tilted her head as he took a flint from the side and struck it.

No flame.

"You speak to a slave like me?" the satyr finally asked, striking the flint again.

It felt like a bucket of ice had been poured down her back (unfortunately, she was speaking from experience—Luke thought it would be finally to see her shriek). "You're a slave?" Annabeth had no idea why she was so surprised, after all, Roma was  _supposed_ to have slaves. Maybe it was the idea of  _Percy_ having a slave…

The satyr smiled, "I'm one of the lucky ones." It was like he was stating a simple fact, "Most of the others have masters who are not even half as kind as Percy."

"Percy is kind?" Annabeth didn't mean for her tone to be so sharp, but the satyr looked at her reprovingly, like a parent scolding their child or an older sibling scolding his younger one.

"Have you not realized that already?"

"I suppose you have a point." She sighed, but she couldn't continue on her thought since she was distracted by a loud crackle and the fire caught.

"It's actually clean…" the satyr sounded shocked, and Annabeth jerked her head up. Her gaze swept the chambers—the spotless chambers. Her lips twitched up of their own accord.

"Yeah… they were a pigsty last night so I picked up a little."

The satyr turned to look at her with—where those  _hearts_ shining in his eyes? Annabeth tried to scoot away from him —she remembered Gleeson when he was on a sugar-hype, and this satyr looked remarkably similar to that— but the satyr only moved with her, somehow staying a respectful distance from her.

"I like you," his voice was quite serene, and that only added to the creepiness. "I've always thought that Percy makes a mess to make life harder for me—I mean really, every time I come in here, it's  _always_ a mess! And then you come in and it's perfectly clean— _thank you_! Will you marry me? My name is Grover!"

_…I think I'm still dreaming…_

"Grover," an amused, deep (but sleepy!) voice came from behind them, and Annabeth looked up on instinct. Percy stood above them. "I think you're scaring her. Plus, you're a day too late for your proposal…"

Grover pressed his lips down and his bottom one stuck out. "How are you already awake? I normally have to drag you out of your bed—and even then, I have to pour water on your head."

Percy rolled his eyes, a gesture Annabeth was rapidly becoming familiar with. "I could hear both of you yakking."

Okay, that wasn't right. "I am  _not_ that loud," Annabeth protested. He looked at her with an ' _are you serious_ '? face and cleared his throat.

"' _Oh my gods, you're half donkey!_ '" He said in a high pitched voice, obviously doing a very bad imitation of her voice—and probably on purpose, too. Annabeth narrowed her eyes and stood. Percy didn't even have the courtesy to look nervous.

"I do  _not_ sound like that."

"Uh, yes you do."

"I can't recall a time I have  _ever_ used the expression, 'oh my gods'." That was technically a lie… but it wasn't like he had to know that.

"You just did," his lips were twitching, as if he was trying to resist the urge to smile. Annabeth growled and she took a violent step forward, fully preparing to take him by his tunic to—

"Oh gods, you're already having a lover's quarrel and you've only been married for a day."

" _What_?!" Annabeth swung around to gawp at the satyr, who had at some point stood up and cross his arms. She gestured between her and Percy frantically, almost slapping him in the face at some point. "We're not lovers!"

"We're not lovers!"

Annabeth raised an eyebrow at Percy, who had said the same phrase as she did. There was only a split-second difference between their voices.

"You're not?" Another feminine voice spoke up, sounding surprised, and Annabeth jerked away from her glare at Percy and at her maidservant.

"Piper!"

Piper tilted her head, adjusting the tray as she closed the door behind her. She looked genuinely surprised, but her gaze was darting between Annabeth and Percy. Annabeth could just  _see_ the daughter of Aphrodite was thinking about something ridiculous…

"Of course not; we only just met!" Percy sounded a bit repulsed by the idea, and Annabeth had to bury her head in her hands when her ears suddenly felt hot. She could already  _hear_ Piper's incestuous response…

"I bet you wanted to though."

There were several splutters from Percy, either from embarrassment or indignation. Annabeth lifted her head when she felt like she had gotten the urge to blush under her control—

_Nope. It's back._

Piper was grinning  _that_ grin as she shifted the trays and handed Annabeth some bread—not cooked over the fire—and handed some to Percy as well. A part of Annabeth wondered where the  _'I don't like Perseus the Heir Apparent of Roma_ ' had went on her friend.

There was a short knock and a tall blond stepped inside of the room. Annabeth quickly glanced at the window—the sun had only just started to come up.

When Annabeth looked back at the blond, she saw that he and Piper were staring at each other strangely. "Do I know you?" the blond asked after a moment.

Piper shook her head, "No." The man nodded slowly, as if he didn't fully believe her, then switched his gaze on Percy. It was like Annabeth didn't exist, at least for the moment, and she was happy to keep it that way.

"The Eastern patrol came back safe and sound, Percy. Oh, and Octavius requests your presence in the council today."

Percy let out a sigh that sounded relieved. "That's good… and tell pater I'll be there soon."

The man lips curled up into a grin, "That's not a response I would expect from someone on the day right after their wedding."

"Jason!"

Jason let out a laugh that sounded like a catcall while Annabeth stalked over to the desk and picked up the knife she had seen on it and marched back to Percy… the picture of dignity and grace—not embarrassment. Nope. Nuh-uh.

Percy looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Jason grinned and bowed first to her, then Percy, and then to Piper. Annabeth felt a vicious surge of evil-plotting-teasing-said-maidservant's-doom when she saw that her cheeks had turned a little pink.

"I'll see you soon, my lady."

Oh, this was  _wonderful_.

"I'm not a lady!"

"Someone as pretty as you isn't a lady?" Jason sounded genuinely confused, and Piper became a stuttering mess.

Grover laughed behind her, but it didn't sound mean. Percy looked like a cat that had just caught a canary as he bit into the toast. Annabeth wasn't sure why—at the moment, she pretty much felt like she was about to die from embarrassment. Oh, and evil-cunning-blackmail-plans.

"I need to get something!" Grover suddenly yelped, and he began to trot to the door.

Piper nodded, "And I'll… erm, help you get them!" She peeked at Jason, who smiled at her. Annabeth felt unadultured glee at the blush that went on her face, especially after Jason smiled at her. It was… _ADORABLE_ and she would  _finally_ be able to have revenge for all those times Piper teased her!

"Someone's happy," Percy quipped above her head, and she beamed at him. He looked at the door thoughtfully, where Piper, Jason and Grover had disappeared and scratched his chin. "I don't think he realized that he was flirting with her… or the fact that she blushed…"

"Really?" Annabeth asked, beginning a tiny dance around their room with a couple of high pitched,  _girly_ squeals.

"He's already courting Reyna," Percy sounded amused as he walked over to his—their?—dresser and started to rummage around in it, looking for something.

"That's even  _better!_ " Annabeth was sure her voice broke glass, but at the moment, she didn't care. Instead, she started waving her arms in the air and kicking out everywhere.

"Might I ask what's got you behaving like a lunatic? And careful about that dagger."

Annabeth scowled at him and threw the knife onto their bed. "I finally have blackmail material, and a chance for revenge."

"Oh boy, what have I gotten myself into?"

She stuck her tongue out at him, he responded similarly as he pulled out a… toga? He ducked behind a screen and Annabeth sat down in front of the fire. Hopefully, Piper would think of getting her some clothes…

"I'm likely going to be in the council until the noon bell," Percy's tone was light and conversational. Annabeth figured he didn't need for her to encourage him. "You'll be fine without me?"

Annabeth almost smiled. "Percy, I'm an only child with a father who really doesn't care about what I do—I can take care of myself for a few hours."

"I'm sure you can," his voice was neutral. Annabeth paused for a moment, wondering if she should ask Percy about Octavius… but she didn't want to destroy what little trust they had in each other.

"Annabeth?" she looked over her shoulder to see Percy fiddling with a belt on his shoulder. "Do you know how to adjust armor?" he looked at with, not just pleading with his voice but his eyes as well—making an adorable seal-like expression.

Annabeth smiled and walked over to him carefully. She hesitated for a moment, then she took the strap he had been playing with and tightened it. For some reason, her throat was constricting and she had to remind herself to breathe.

Percy swallowed.

She bit her lip and then pulled the strap toward her, and then she threaded the metal thingy (which she still didn't know the name of) through the hole.

"Thanks," his voice was hoarse. Annabeth smiled at him, but stepped away quickly for some reason.

"No problem."

Percy tilted his head, and then a careful smile spread across his face.

It was a beautiful thing.


	5. Capvt V: What Should Be, Will Be

Capvt V: What Should Be, Will be

**Perseus**   
_Spring, X176 BC_

* * *

Percy was tempted to hit himself in the head with the book of battle history he was reading. Hard.

But instead, he managed to place it down,  _gently_ , on the cushion next to him and stared at his pater. His pater was watching him carefully, as if he had sensed his exasperation. Percy was determined not to give him any excuse to use him again to do something bad… or Annabeth.

Percy hadn't realized it until  _after_ he had left his —no,  _their_ — room, but he was now responsible for her safety as well as his own. And eventually the Senate would want them to make babies…

Ergh. That actually kind of terrified him for some reason… and probably Annabeth as well. Maybe that was why she had been so shy last night, and it wasn't like he had helped ease her worries…

And he really needed to stop thinking of her. Especially if he got a dreamy look like Hazel said, then His pater would look at him weirdly…

Percy shook his head, stopping the thoughts right there.  _No_. He did  _not_ get a dreamy look and his pater wouldn't look at him weirdly… like he was at that moment…

Oops?

He cleared his throat and leaned back into the cushion of the window. He might as well get comfortable: the Caesar didn't look like he was about to leave anytime soon. His pater sat down, his back leaning against the wall as he stared at Percy. That only made him uneasy. His pater always knew when he was hiding something, somehow, and Percy never liked it when he forced him to tell…

Then again, he  _could_  just be a bad liar. Though if he was, then he would probably be dead by now…

Of course, his pater could just be a mind reader. Then that would give Percy an excuse to (attempt) to strangle him, although then the guards would probably arrest him. After that, depending on whether or not his pater was feeling merciful, he would either banish Percy, or execute him. And then Annabeth would be in danger…

"Are you entertaining thoughts of strangling me again, Perseus?" his slightly amused voice brought Percy back to reality. That, and his actual name. And the accusation.

 _He_ must  _be a mind reader…_

Percy cleared his throat and shook his head. "No," he lied. He resisted the urge to smirk—that would tell the real story. "I'm not."

His pater raised an eyebrow, "Right."

Percy almost hit himself. But not with the book this time, with his hand. His pater would probably disprove… and if one of the servants or slaves (though no one would believe the latter) happened to walk down the hall at that moment… well, it would be Percy's fault if someone said the Heir Apparent was inducing self-harm upon himself.

"What are you here for?"

His pater frowned at him, "Is that how you greet your pater, Perseus?"

"Hello. Why are you here? I was reading a book."

"What book?"

Percy narrowed his eyes at him, but held it up for him to read the title.  _Historia Romani Bellum Glorique._

"The History of Roman War and Glory," he read out loud, almost to himself. Percy fought down the urge to swallow the lump that suddenly rose in his throat back. Don't show weakness. Don't give him an excuse to lash out. His pater nodded slowly, his eyebrows joining together.

"Good book," his tone was flat. Percy almost smiled though, that was the closest he would get for his pater to compliment him. But he couldn't show any emotion. That would not be Roman, and he wanted him to be Roman. And a leader…

Percy's hands got sweaty and his stomach started to twist. He placed the book down next to him before it could get all gross and pressed his hands together to hide the shaking. He had no idea why he always felt this way when the thought, or idea, of being the Caesar was raised. Perhaps he really was a coward like his pater said he was…

"Thank you."

Any trace of kindness slipped out of his pater's face. A cold expression went on it instead, which made Percy want to curse at his back luck. Or maybe himself. He shouldn't have said that, but he had forgotten who he was talking to.

 _"Don't thank people, you are the Heir Apparent Perseus, and it is beneath you_."

"How was the Greek last night?"

Percy frowned. What was he talking about? Annabeth was perfectly… oh. Percy's neck suddenly felt hot. He had forgotten about that. Well, kind of. The reason he  _had_ been reading in the first place was to forget about it…

He coughed, trying to get the images out of his head. "She was, very good."

Hades, he couldn't stop the heat from spreading into the cheeks. And now she had worn off on him a little. When did he say Hades? That was what Annabeth used that one time when he had first met…

Ugh.

His pater's lips twitched, much to Percy's surprise. That was the closest he had gotten to a smile from him his entire life. "You've never done it before?"

_Why, oh why, is he talking about this now?_

Percy knew he was lucky that humans couldn't melt. Otherwise he would be a puddle by now. "N-no." he stuttered, then wished he could smack himself for a third time. Why did he suddenly want to inflect self-harm again?

"You're way too honorable, Perseus." His pater's tone was slightly amused. Percy knew he was dying of laughter inside though. That made Percy angry.

"So what?" he grumbled and crossed his arms. Probably not very mature of him, but he couldn't help himself. And he had a feeling his pater would let this slide. "It's not like I  _have_ to do, that, to the first woman I see."

 _Actually, I don't have to do that to_ any  _woman..._

His lips curled slightly. "Now you're just getting defensive, Perseus. There is no shame in this. Why, I remember in my youth I had at least five women by my side to…"

Percy quickly blocked his voice out.  _Why_   _me_? He wondered, conquering up a mental image of himself sobbing his eyes out. It definitely helped.

"…and now I need twenty…"

Percy resisted the urge to cover his ears up.

"Okay," he interrupted before his pater could continue on. "I think I get it." he  _looked_ at Percy, which made him realize his wording. "I get it," he corrected.

For a moment, he thought his pater wouldn't let it slide, but he did. The Caesar's mask slipped back onto his face. "I expect an Heir by the end of next year."

Percy's mind went blank. He couldn't think for a moment. His heart seemed to stop pounding under his chest, that drumbeat he had always taken for granted. He couldn't see anything either. All he could hear was his pater's breathing. All he could smell was the wax on the hardwood.

 _Breathe_ , he reminded himself.

He heard a hiss, like air being released through teeth. Suddenly, Percy felt very lightheaded—like he was about to pass out. But that wouldn't be very manly, and his pater would suspect something was amiss. Not that he ever cared, unless it was for his own gain.

 _Calm down,_ he thought.

His pater was looking at him curiously. Percy nodded slowly, "Yessir."

He had no choice but to agree. He had to protect Annabeth… okay. So he had to protect himself. That lie was going to come back and bite him in the podex some day. Then again,  _all_ of those lies he had made throughout the years were going to come back and haunt him.

Percy  _hated_ lying. But he had no idea how to  _not_ lie. He couldn't tell the truth to him. He didn't want to be the Caesar. He didn't want to be the Heir Apparent. He didn't want a wife… but at least it was Annabeth and not some crazy old hag.

"An Ambassador from Upper Brittania will be here on the morrow."

Percy nodded slowly; he knew what that usually meant. And he hated them. Why anyone would find enjoyment out of something so sadistic was beyond him. They made him feel sick to his stomach… although there wasn't anything he could do about it. He had to stay safe.

"I thought Brittania was overrun by Saxons." He commented, sucking on the inside of his cheek.

"And how often is that proven false?"

"Good point."

His pater watched Percy with a weird expression. He almost would have said it was one of knowledge or thought, but that wasn't quite right. Whatever it was, it was worse than Reyna's glare and he had fight back the urge to shift. At least with her, she didn't care if he fidgeted under her gaze. In fact, Percy thought it brought her some sort of satisfaction for some reason.

"Are you going to participate in the Gladiators this round? I'm sure you can beat Morrigan."

Percy briefly entertained the thought of smacking burly Morrigan with the flat of his blade. He was no better than a playground bully… and what was worse was the fact he had been Percy's instructor when he was younger. Young Perseus had learned a hard lesson at a very young age: defend or be killed. Well, Morrigan thought it was kill or be killed, but Percy flat out refused to kill unless it was a monster.

That almost cost him his life a couple of times…

But Percy knew that he would be no better than a common animal if he participated in the Gladiators. If he did kill Morrigan, then he would have to kill the rest of the competitors until one of them killed him. And if he had to be the Caesar, he didn't want to be one who killed just for sport. That was just immoral.

Of course, he  _had_ entertained notions of swinging his sword and decapitating Morrigan's head from his body… along blood spraying all over the ground and him as it fell to the ground… just like monster dust.

"No, not this time," Percy shook his head. A feeling of dread rose in him when his pater frowned in his direction. He never had participated in them and in his eyes Percy knew he was unworthy of the crown. He probably was, seeing as he never had proved himself… all he was good for was fighting and (occasionally) stopping arguments between his father and an ambassador from another kingdom change into another war.

Honestly, it was a miracle Greece and Roma hadn't gone off to war by now… but then again, maybe that was something to do with the gods'. Mars and Minerva didn't want war. Or Juno. Possibly.

And there was that whole spectacular with Sparta a few years back…

"Perseus, I have been asking you this question for almost nine summers—ever since you were ten. You have to prove yourself to the people that you can fight."

Percy narrowed his eyes at his pater. "And why doesn't the thousands of monsters I kill count in proving myself?" he asked even though he already knew the answer.

"Because the people can't see you— they want entertainment."

Percy spluttered when his pater rose and patted him on the shoulder. "Killing is  _entertainment_?" he swung his head around. The older man turned around and sneered at Percy, his features twisting into something demonic and unearthly. Percy jerked his head to the side, but refused to back down.

"Your life is not the only one I hold now."

Percy stood up abruptly as something… something strange surged through him. He felt as if he  _had_ to stand his ground this time, otherwise... the strange feeling filled his heart and his mind so that his mouth moved before he caught up with his words. "Leave Annabeth out of this."

"And why should I? Do I need to remind you I am the Caesar, Perseus?"

His stomach clenched, but he couldn't back down. If he did, his pater would see him as week and who knows what'll happen to Annabeth then. "And Annabeth is my wife, Caesar." He stopped the urge to rub his jaw and made sure his arms hung by his sides. "If you kill her, then you won't have an heir… along with a war on your hands."

He narrowed his eyes at him. "You better watch your mouth, boy." His eyes flashed and Percy found all the courage had drained out of him.

But that didn't matter.

"No Caesar. If you execute the Princess of Greece, I won't hesitate to side myself with them. This marriage was  _your_ idea and I only went along with it because of the chance for peace between our countries."

Percy tucked the book under his arm and ground his teeth together.

"I will not hesitate to walk down that road if it comes to that."

His pater took a few steps forward, his movements quick and jerky at the same time and raised his hand. Percy didn't flinch. But he didn't turn his face either.

"What about Roma, then, Perseus?"

Percy blinked and all the bravado drained out of him. Oh. He should've thought of the people before speaking out. And now his pater was going to hit him. Wonderful.

Octavius' eyes were still slits and his face was contorted. Percy wasn't sure if he was sneering at him anymore though. "That princess is already wearing off on you, isn't she Perseus?"

Percy averted his eyes. So what if Annabeth had?

A cold hand gripped his chin and jerked it up. Percy stared into icy blue eyes, trying to understand what was behind them. There was a shadow, but he didn't know what it was. He had always thought his pater was kind of funny looking, but as he grew older, Percy had started to fear him. Not only did he have a way with words, but he got angry easily.

"If you  _ever_ speak out like this again, it will be ten lashes."

And then he let go of his chin and walked away.

~…~

"It looks like an arena…"

"It's a coliseum."

"And you kill for sport?"

"Not all of us like it."

"Like you?"

"Maybe."

"Are you Romans sane?"

"I've had my doubts."

Annabeth looked like she was about to break out in laughter, but she squashed down, quite masterfully for a novice. She was only smiling a little, although her eyes reflected her laughter. Percy found that kind of refreshing, everyone he knew wore some kind of mask.

He shook the thoughts out of his head and held his hand out to her. She stared at with round eyes, as if she wasn't sure about what she was supposed to do. Slowly, her hand snaked out and wrapped around his arm and he wasn't sure if he should feel sad or happy about that fact. At least she didn't  _hate_ him. Yet.

He really needed to stop being so pessimistic.

Her gray eyes (they reminded him so much of storm clouds for some reason) darted from one place to the next, like she was waiting for something to happen. He had to admire the sheer intensity of her gaze—maybe he would be able to teach her how to read and maybe even write a little. She mentioned not knowing how to do either earlier, which honestly shocked him. Not only was she the princess, but she was intelligent. Where the Greeks barbarians?

"Where are we going?" her voice pierced through his thoughts like a dagger, startling him back into reality. He looked at her, but she was staring ahead. Her eyebrows had furrowed together and she was frowning. He averted his gaze quickly, just in time to see two kids run across the street. They grinned at him and he gave a small smile back at them.

"We're going to the Gladiators." He said, turning back to Annabeth. She nodded slowly, her eyes flashing with some strange emotion. Percy almost asked what it was, but decided against it. She seemed a little temperamental and he very much liked having women on his good side.

Mood swings were scary.

"Gladiators… the murderers?"

Percy almost winced at her tone. She  _clearly_ disapproved of the Gladiator Games, and it was clear with her blunt way she addressed them. "Yeah, just don't say it when anyone can hear you." He lowered his voice so that only she could hear it, in case one of the Caesar's spies was following them. "And stay away from Morrigan if you can."

"Who's Morrigan?" she asked, looking at Percy with an inquisitive expression. Percy almost smacked himself. Again. Why did he keep having the urge to hit himself? As far as he was aware, that hadn't happened since he was a child.

"Burly brute," he muttered, shaking his head viciously to clear his thoughts. "Has yellow teeth—a few are broken. Crocked too. Scary blue eyes—it's like they pierce and see through your soul." He explained, not caring if he sounded disjointed. "He was my master for a little while too, before Chiron."

Annabeth tilted her head, "Master?"

Percy nodded, attempting to look wise. "Instructor—swords instructor. But then Chiron came around and took over—ended up teaching me more than just swordplay." He smiled slightly, remembering his crippled mentor. When Percy had been younger, he thought Chiron was someone from the gods' who had come to rescue him. Unfortunately, that never happened. His pater had figured out what he was teaching and exiled him, much to Percy's horror. But he still remembered those last moments with Chiron… and he still clung onto his teachings.

"I thought Romans don't  _like_ Centaurs…"

Percy glanced at Annabeth in confusion, "Centaurs?" he wrinkled his nose. "We don't."

Annabeth looked at the ground, her eyebrows joining together as she scowled pensively at the ground. "But…" she shook her head, "Never mind."

Percy was tempted to ask what she meant, but decided against it. If she saw fit to tell him, she would. Until then, however, he would just have to wait.

He tapped her elbow and jerked his head toward the stairs that led up into the coliseum. "We better get up there—the Caesar doesn't like it when we're tardy"

She made a face. "No offense, Percy, but your father sounds horrid."

Percy almost laughed. "None taken."

* * *

Percy nodded at his pater and to the ambassador (his name was Artorius) in greeting, carefully keeping his face blank. Annabeth stiffened next to him, but she didn't verbally insult the Caesar—which he was impressed about. That was an accomplishment, for her at least. It was obvious she wasn't used to keeping her mouth shut. Not that Percy blamed her. Of course not.

He pinched himself mentally. He had to quit thinking while he was around his pater.

"Pater, Ambassador." He acknowledged, keeping all emotions out of his voice. He tightened his grip around Annabeth's arm, just to remind himself he wasn't alone. Not anymore.

He wasn't sure what was worse—being or not being alone. At least he was the only one being endangered.

"Perseus," his pater nodded his head.

"Caesar," Annabeth's quiet but polite voice interrupted. She nodded her head, with a carefully crafted blank face. It was only through years of practice that made Percy able to hide his glee at his pater's expression. He looked like he had been slapped across the face with a fish—a smelly fish too.

Annabeth turned to the Ambassador and smiled slightly, "Ambassador."

Artorius smiled back at her, and Percy noticed that his shoulders weren't as tense. Hmm. "Princess," he returned, his voice pleasant. For some odd reason, Percy didn't like it… especially when Annabeth straightened her back. Odd.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a man maybe a couple of years younger than he himself standing in the shadows. Those dark eyes (they reminded him of a starless night) seemed to bore into his own, like he blamed Percy for doing something. What it was, however, Percy had no idea. As far as he was aware, he hadn't done anything to upset anyone… except for maybe Saturn. Or the sea god—Neptune.

Percy shoved that thought to the back of his mind. No, no way in Hades would he think of him. Not after that time when his mother disappeared when she went off to sea.

The mysterious figure moved out of the shadows and into the sunlight. So smoothly, in fact, Percy didn't realize it until his pale skin was illuminated by the sunlight. Did he even get outdoors?

"…Greece?"

Percy bit back curse when he realized he had gotten lost in his thoughts. Again. Quickly, he focused in on Annabeth and Artorius, both of whom were chatting happily while his pater watched them with an expression that sent shivers down Percy's spine.

"Yes," Annabeth's expression was warm, but guarded. Percy wished he could pull that off. "I was from Greece, but I moved here a few moons ago."

Percy was all ears. She had barely been there for seven sunrises, let alone moons. She must've been a diplomat to some degree back in Greece, if she had the sense not to say they were recently married.

"I see. Well, the best of luck to the two of you." He looked at Percy while saying this, and he nodded. He smiled slightly, barely more than a twitch of his lips, but Artorius returned it.

Percy dropped his hand from her arm to the small of her back and guided her to the chairs seated on the right side of his pater's throne. She shot him a look he couldn't read. Perhaps she was trying to commute, "why in Hades are you taking me away?"

Percy didn't answer her as he helped her sit down (though she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself). His pater sat himself down on his throne as well—if Percy didn't know better, he would've said he was lounging—leaving only Percy, the ambassador and one other seat. Percy took his place on his pater's right and Annabeth's left, noticing she had crossed her legs and had leaned back into the throne, looking very much like the royalty she was supposed to, with that crown in her hair and that toga.

Well, almost.

Percy leaned over and whispered, "If you want to complete The Look, you should put your elbow on your armrest and prop your chin in it."

She smiled at him, although her eyes darkened and swirled. She had to be a demigod—no mortal had eyes like that. Perhaps Bellona? "What if I don't want to complete The Look?"

Percy leaned away from her and into his chair, blinking. She smirked and he realized what just happened. He had just been played.

_Cunning. Smart too. Perhaps… no. Not her—that's impossible._

Percy took a couple of deep breaths, forcing his body to appear relaxed. A bad, but familiar, feeling was beginning to form in his stomach, mixed with that tightening of his chest and a suspicion that things were about to go downhill.

Percy glanced back at his pater, who looked smug. He refrained from rolling his eyes, instead, letting his gaze travel around his surroundings. Never hurt to be aware of the people surrounding him.

Several lords and ladies, many of which he didn't recognize, sat in the stands below them and off to the sides. A young girl was among them, light hair (it looked blond and brown and maybe a little red) glinting in the sunlight like a halo. Her eyes looked like gold, but liquefied and melted down—a little like Hazel's. But more bright somehow. Maybe she never saw a Gladiator Game before. Percy felt sad she ever had to witness one.

"Ah, Morrigan. We can finally start."

Percy's head whipped around at the familiar name, and he didn't bother to hide the way his heart began to beat faster or the urge to make himself as small as possible.

Almost everyone knew of Morrigan. Almost everyone feared Morrigan. No one had the misfortune to have been his pupil though.

Yellow, crocket teeth barred together in what Percy assumed was a grin.

"Sorry I'm late, Caesar." He didn't sound very sorry. "I had some unfinished business to attend to."

The man turned to Percy with a nasty expression—perhaps a leer? "Well, I see you got yourself a little lady, Heir Apparent. It's about time you did. And she's a looker at that."

Percy lifted his chin somewhat as he leaned back into his chair and took Annabeth's hand in his. He wasn't sure if it was to calm her down or himself.

"Welcome back, Morrigan."

He sighed.


	6. Capvt VI: Something More [Part I]

Capvt VIII: Something More [Part I]

**Perseus**   
_Spring X175 BC_

* * *

Percy listened to the announcements with only one ear. The other was on the conversations around him—mostly between Octavius, Morrigan and Artorius. It was mostly small, boring talk. "How was the weather back in England?" "Do you like Roma?" Stuff like that. But once, Octavius asked which route Artorius was going to use to get back to England. Percy wasn't sure why, but a bad feeling stirred in the pit of his stomach. Octavius had asked the same question once a few years back, when an ambassador and his son had come over from China. Percy ended up becoming friends with Wang Fei* during that long visit; and they had promised to keep in touch with ink and parchment.

Fei never replied.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. Annabeth shot him a weird look but he ignored it skillfully. He would never understand why the Chinese kid never replied. Maybe he only pretended to be Percy's friend and forgot about him when he got home? That certainly happened a lot when he was younger.

But Fei never had the same air around him like those others did, like he was trying to get to Percy because of his title. As if he did want to be his friend. He never, not once, radiated that same superiority that made Percy feel uncomfortable around the other princes and lords.

He wasn't even counting the ladies that had swamped him after Rachel died….

Percy tightened his hold around Annabeth's hand and felt a stab of gratitude. He really was lucky she hadn't been like the rest of those ladies. There was that spark of intelligence in her eyes that was missing from the others, and even though she didn't know how to read or write, Percy could tell that she wanted to. Even if it was on a subconscious level.

Maybe that was why he felt that spark of attraction, that day when he had met her…? Although, it certainly felt stronger now than when he first met Rachel when that ship had docked. It was a lot stronger, actually. It had almost felt like lightning had struck his body.

Not, of course, that he would know what that felt like…

"Percy, your father is talking to you." Annabeth's voice hissed in Percy's ear. He jumped and looked at his pater.

"Uh… what?"

Octavius looked like he was struggling with the urge to wring Percy's neck, but he took a few deep breaths, as if he was composing himself, and released them with a gusty sigh.

"The Gladiator Games are beginning, Perseus. I would  _suggest_  you watch them and analyze their weaknesses."

The way Octavius said  _suggest_ implied it was an order. Percy nodded automatically and sighed as his pater turned away. Annabeth looked at him, her eyebrows furrowing together into a single line, but he ignored her and switched his gaze on the arena. The crowd was cheering, stomping their feet and clapping their hands, making a ' _thump thump boom'_ sound.

Percy didn't join in; he never had. Thank the gods it wasn't considered proper for the royals to join in.

The crowd eventually went silent as the slaves were led into the arena, all in shackles and rags. Percy leaned forward despite himself, searching their pitiful faces. Their faces and arms were smudged with dirt, and there was terror written all over their features, along with hopelessness.

Percy almost felt disappointed. Not this game then. There wouldn't be a lone survivor like what happened all those years ago with the Cyclops named Tyson. He still remembered that spark of defiance in that big brown calf eye.

_"Why do you not fight Octavius?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I know you don't like this, massacre. This slaughter of innocents. So why do you not speak out, Perseus?"_

Percy knew the answer, it was as bright as day. He was coward.

His gaze landed on a small, dark haired girl. She was obviously the shortest of the bunch, and her hair hung in her eyes and there was a frown on her face, but there was something about her stance… something that wasn't quite the same as the other slaves.

"Welcome," Octavius' booming voice echoed throughout the stands somehow. Percy often wondered how he made his voice amplified like that. "To the 105th Gladiator Games."

There were cheers, screams, whistles, hoots and applause at this. Percy carefully kept his face blank as he glanced at the civilians. They only joined in with applause. That didn't surprise him—they always did that, although there were always a few exceptions. He saw a rather round man whistling and stomping his feet, and a woman with a horse-like face howl in delight.

He quickly averted his eyes when he saw her tongue stick out and lick her blood red lips. He focused back on the Arena as the Gladiators came in, about ten of them against fifty slaves. It showed how confident they were about how they would not be able to be beaten. And Percy recognized a few of the gladiators. He had grown up with Connor and Dakota.

The various sounds of appreciation died down and Octavius' gaze swept the Coliseum. Percy tilted his head as the dark haired girl lifted her head and tossed her bangs out of her eyes. That was not a gesture made by someone who had given up….

He placed his hands on the armrest to the chair, curiosity sparked. It wasn't very often he got interested in something.

"I'd like to formally welcome Ambassador Artorius of Great Brittan to Roma," he announced, his voice grave. There was some scattering applause, but it wasn't quite as impressive as the amount shown for when the Gladiators came in. Artorius bowed his head with a smile on his face.

Octavius smiled, but it looked more like a leer to Percy. "I shall not keep you waiting any longer. Let the Gladiators begin!"

The noise was deafening. If Percy thought their joy was loud before, then this broke the sound waves. Annabeth flinched next to him, as if she was taken by surprise by the noise and Percy flashed her a quick smile that was meant to be reassuring. He wasn't sure if it had the right affect on her though: her eyebrows drew together into a small frown and her eyes narrowed somewhat.

Percy looked back at the ground. The slaves were jumping up on the rocks, pressing their backs against the gray stone as the Gladiators walked closer to them slowly. They all knew that there was no way for the slaves to survive.

Except… that girl, the one Percy had seen earlier, was inching around the rocks. She didn't look remotely scared, or even worried. She stuck to the shadows, and her face had a mask of utter calm on it—almost, as if she had been trained by someone….

And that face looked familiar for some reason….

Then, suddenly, the Gladiators moved forward. Their pace seemed to change in the blink of an eye. One moment they were lax, arrogantly so, and then the next they were like vipers slithering out of their nests.

They raised their lances as the screams rose from the slaves. Percy could see a few tearstained faces, and even the girl's face flashed with terror for split second before turning back into that mask of perfect calm. He wondered how she did it. Even  _he_ wouldn't be able to stay that composed if ten Gladiators charged up on him, screaming for bloody murder….

Time seemed to slow down, or stand still at the very least. Percy's train of thoughts were cut off as he stared down at the Arena. The Gladiators lowered their lances and positioned them over their shoulders, obviously preparing to throw.

_In, out. One, two._

_Right foot, left foot._

_They're the slaves, their lives are worthless._

_In, out. In, out._

The javelins fly out of the grasp, like long arrows, and Percy quickly averted his eyes to Annabeth's face. Hers are wide open, bright with tears and full of shock. Her body was tense, and she clenched his hand almost to the point it was painful.

Percy switched his gaze back onto the arena and gagged.

About half of the slaves had been mauled—either their heads were lolling about and their bodies twitching like a lizard's tail when it is pulled off, or gorged with blood pouring out of their chests. The gray boulders are stained were a dark substance—blood. And Percy knew instantly it wouldn't come out.

There were a few lone survivors though, and the girl he had noticed earlier was among them.

* * *

"Excuse me," Percy muttered, not looking down at where the bloodbath had just happened. Not at where the slaves had exited for the moment. Not at Annabeth or at Octavius. He fixed his eyes on the ground and pushed himself up.

He quickly fled from the top pavilion and let his feet guide him.

_Screams._

_Fire._

_The executioner, holding an axe over a crying woman's neck._

_A body, beheaded. Twitching as shocks ran through it._

_Blood._

Percy gagged again and kicked his sandals off his feet, for once not caring if they got cut in the process. The streets of Rome were deserted, presumably because of the Games. Percy swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and veered off to the right.

_The sea, crashing against their boat, causing it to pitch and hurl._

_A smile, and clear blue eyes._

_A set of gray eyes._

_More screams. A town up in flames and someone crying next to him._

Something soft and warm was sifting through his toes. It felt like salt almost. Percy could hear the thunder of a waterfall and he opened his eyes. When had he closed them?

There was a pool right in front of him, sparkling white and blue in the sunlight. A waterfall emptied into it, its white rapids plunging down and down into the water.

Percy sighed and let his feet shift closer to the water's edge. He crossed his arms as he let it lap up against his feet, even though there  _clearly_ shouldn't be some kind of tide.

_"Will we ever see Daddy again, mommy?"_

_"I don't know, Percy."_

Percy sighed as he ran his hand over his face and took another step into the pool. The water was now up to his ankles. He never did understood why he had voices in his head. At times, it almost like he had a past life. But, as far as he knew, he lived with Octavius all his life, and his mother died out at sea, when she was coming back from a mission in Sparta.

He took a couple more steps out into the water.

How could Octavius do this? How could he  _stand_ those bloodbaths? It was horrible! It was barbaric. The people fighting were just captured slaves. So what if they had no worth to the kingdom? So what if they could turn on them?

But then again, the Gladiators had been going on for so long that it would probably never change. And Percy himself would end up hosting them. Maybe he would eventually turn into his pater. He could still remember stories the people would tell him about this just man who tried to do what was best for the kingdom, back when he was still a boy.

"I thought you hated Poseidon, Percy."

Percy spun around in the waist-high water, only to meet Annabeth's gaze. He blinked.

"Where did you come from?"

Her lips twitched, though her eyes were darker than usual. "I followed you, of course."

Percy could tell she was resisting the urge to call him something along the lines of 'idiot'. He frowned and crossed his arms, if only to hide the fact that he was slightly impressed.

"What if I was running off into the woods?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and lifted her arms up toward the sky. "Ah, but I doubt you would do that. You're a rational person."

A strand of her blond hair fell down over her shoulders, and then another. Percy smirked. "Now, how do you know that, Annabeth? For all you know, I could be a psychopath hiding under the guise of a rational man."

She stepped into the water, but didn't betray any sign of humor. "You're right."

"I am?" Percy hadn't expected to win an argument against her so easily.

"But you're not, are you?" she cocked her head and a smile formed on her face. Percy stared at her, and she looked away. "So, those were the Gladiators, huh?"

Percy ran a hand across his face, sighed, and nodded, even though he knew she couldn't see him. "Yeah."

Her eyebrows furrowed together into a frown, and Percy barely had enough time to think:  _uh-oh,_ before she was talking again. "They're horrible. Your father is a psychopath."

He frowned at her, "Watch what you're saying, Annabeth. He  _is_ my pater…" he reminded her. "But yeah, I definitely don't agree with him on some things."

"Then why don't you do something about it?"

Percy shrugged, watching as one pale foot stepped deeper into the pool, and then another. She wasn't wearing shoes again. "I can't do anything about it."

"Can't, or  _won't_?"

Percy looked away from her and kicked at the water. He watched as the spray leapt into the air, way taller than it should have for the amount of power he put into his kick.

"You don't understand what it's like, Annabeth. I've tried to make him proud of me,  _so many times_ , but it's never good enough.  _Never_. Every single time, he just gives me that disappointed glower, as if I've done something wrong. But one day, I know I'll do something to get even just a shard of affection from him. He's not entirely heartless…" He  _can't_ be entirely heartless.

"That doesn't matter, Percy. Sometimes…" she paused and looked at the water, her eyebrows furrowing together. "Sometimes you just got to do what is right and damn the consequences."

Percy tilted his head, "You're smarter than you let on." He remarked. She raised an eyebrow, and then a smile played at her lips. She took another step closer to him, and then another, and another.

She was standing right in front of him, and Percy could count all the freckles on her face, if he wanted.

"And you're a lot stupider than I thought you were originally." He smiled, not in the least bit insulted since he was used to Reyna taunting him. He stuck his tongue out a little, and her face exploded into a grin. "Childish, too."

"Wise Girl."

She rolled her eyes, but it didn't really have the desired effect, since she was grinning. "Is that the best you can do, Seaweed Brain?"

Percy rolled his eyes and, before he thought about it, he swung his arm across his shoulders like he used to do with Rachel. She didn't seem to mind. "Nah, I wasn't trying to insult you."

She laughed under her breath, before sobering. "Will you talk to her?"

"I don't know."

"You should."

Percy felt a surge of frustration and he pulled away from her. He narrowed his eyes and she looked straight back at him, her plump lips in a hard line and her stunning eyes were like storm clouds swelling with thunder and rain and lightning. She  _had_ to be a demigod…

"I'm scared, alright?" he said, and she flinched. Percy realized his tone had come out sharper than he had intended. Not only that, but she wasn't used to his personality yet either. He let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sorry," he muttered, but he didn't feel very sorry.

Her features softened. "It's alright to be scared, Percy. All that matters is that you don't give into that fear… I know you're no coward."

She turned away from him and walked out of the pool. Percy closed his eyes.

_You don't know that._

He opened his eyes and watched as she took the bottom of the white toga and wringed some of the water out of it. She looked up and smiled at him, before focusing on her task again.

"If you're going to talk to her, I suggest doing it sooner rather than later. Octavius didn't say how long the break will be, and I reckon we've been talking for a good amount of time." She took her crown off the gray rock, and placed it back in her hair, though it was slightly lopsided. Percy almost smiled as he followed in her footsteps.

"Here, let me help you with that."

She nodded, not revealing any discomfort or uneasiness, though Percy was beginning to realize that she had a mask that was just as good as his, if not more so.

So, he smiled at her slightly, more to reassure her than anything, and deftly began to weave her hair back into the crown the way it had been before, remembering a happier time when he used to weave flowers into long red hair, back when he had been a child….

"You've done this before." Her voice was quiet. Percy faltered for a moment, before he continued, despite the way his eyes stung and his heart did that painful little twinge every time he thought of her.

"I had a friend," he admitted. "She loved having flowers in her hair, but her maids wouldn't do it for her, and she couldn't do it herself, so she taught me how."

"You sound close…"

Percy peeked at her face, and his smile widened at the expression she was making. "You're jealous!"

Annabeth's face twisted both up and down at the same time, if that was even possible. "Of course I'm not."

"Oh yes you are."

Her eyes narrowed, and Percy held his hands up, before getting back to work on her hair. "Anyway, don't worry about it. That was a long time ago, and any feelings I might have had for her died with her."

 _Liar,_ a little voice in the back of his head whispered.

"It doesn't seem like they have…" she said quietly, and Percy stopped. "I saw you were tearing up just a moment ago. Like you said, I'm not stupid."

Percy sighed slightly and closed his eyes. "No, I guess not. I loved her, and I probably still do."

"Then why aren't you married to her?"

He wiped at his face with the back of his left hand, just in case. "She was murdered a week before we got married."

"I'm sorry." Her voice was soft. Percy shook his head and opened his eyes, weaving her hair back into the crown again. He tried to ignore the way his fingers were shaking.

"Don't be, it's not like it's your fault."

They were silent for a long moment, and then he said, "You actually remind me a little of her."

It was strange, actually. How easily talking of Rachel came to him, when it was just Annabeth listening. When it was Reyna or Jason or Frank or Hazel, or even his pater— _especially_ his pater—he always tried to shied away from the subject as much as possible. When it was with Annabeth, it just felt… weird. Almost as if a burden was growing lighter.

"I do?"

He nodded, "You've got the same sense of compassion as Rachel did."

She tilted her head, but a small smile played at her lips. "Compassion? Me?" Percy nodded, attempting to look wise. She burst into giggles so, he figured that was a failed attempt, and smiled at her ruefully. "Is… was Rachel her name?"

Percy sobered. "Yes."

She cast her gaze at the ground, "It's a pretty name."

He bit his bottom lip to stop the tears from spilling out of his eyes.


	7. Capvt VII: Something More [Part II]

Capvt VIII: Something More [Part II]

**Perseus**   
_Spring X176 BC_

* * *

" _It's alright being scared… it's alright being scared… it's alright being scared…"_

Percy climbed the stairs that went up to his… and Annabeth's chambers, her words echoing inside of his head.

_"I know you're no coward…"_

But he was a coward— she was the brave one, she had just displayed that when she started to speak out against Octavius like that. In fact, he  _should_ arrest her for treason against the Caesar, but for some reason, he just couldn't. He couldn't even summon more than a slight twinge of annoyance on his pater's behalf, and that almost made him feel scared for some reason. Not even Rachel could get away with talking like that against the Caesar, and he had loved her. A lot. But somehow, Annabeth could…

And he wasn't sure if that was because he was older then he was back then, or if it was something more.

"You're thinking again," a smooth voice spoke up, and Percy didn't even jump. He just plunged on ahead.

"Yes."

"That's dangerous."

Percy rolled his eyes, "Not particularly. I'm getting a cloak, Reyna. From my chambers." He added for good measure, glancing at the brunette. "And I'm pretty sure you don't need to guard me in my own resting place."

She smirked, "Why, I wasn't even thinking about guarding you. I just wanted to go on a pleasant stroll with one of my closest friends."

He arched an eyebrow, "No, you would go on a pleasant stroll with  _Jason_. You just tag along so you can taunt me."

Reyna shrugged, looking unconcerned. "Guilty. But you already knew that." Percy struggled with his temper for a moment, and she added on, "So, why are you going back to your chambers?"

"Annabeth."

Her expression turned sage, "Ah. What did she do?"

"…she taunted me."

His friend laughed, abandoning all attempts at looking wise. Percy looked at the ceiling and nodded his head from side to side, waiting for her laughter to die down.

"She's getting to know you well, Percy. Attacking your pride, that's a strategy Lady Minerva would be proud of."

Percy sighed, and interlocked his fingers behind his head, dropping all royal protocol. It wasn't like anyone could see them. "I think she's a demigod, actually. No normal mortal would have eyes like hers. They're rather captivating… and scary."

(If Percy happened to look at Reyna, he would see that her eyebrow had shot up, before her lips curled up into a sly smile, although there was also a softer emotion in her eyes. But he didn't look at her, so he didn't know.)

"She's quite pretty."

He nodded without thinking, "Gorgeous, actually."

"And she's going to be more than a capable queen when she's Caesar at your side."

"Oh yes."

Reyna leapt up in the air and shouted, "Yes!" while punching it. Percy jumped away from her and stared. He had never seen her act so… childishly before. Reyna was grinning.  _Grinning!_ And  _she_  was supposed to be the serious praetor.

"It's nice to see you finally beginning to move on after Rachel." Her eyes got that hint of sadness, and Percy looked away.

"I don't know I would say that, Reyna. I definitely don't feel the way for her I did for Rachel."

Reyna's gaze fell to the ground, "You'll be surprised, Percy."

Percy's eyebrows furrowed together as that protective instinct kicked in. Why did she look so sad? "What's wrong? Did Jason say or do something stupid again? Do I need to punch him?"

She looked up quickly, like she was surprised, then laughed slightly, "Nothing's wrong between me and Jason. We're just busier than usual, and I can take care of myself. Besides, I don't want to come between your friendship."

He smiled slightly, the layer of toughness softening, and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Don't worry about that, Rey-Rey. You're like the annoying older sister I've never had, and I'm not afraid to beat Jason up if he hurts you or something."

"You're being overprotective as always." She rolled her eyes, then smiled, her expression softening. "Thanks for the gesture though, Percy. I'll leave you to get that cloak."

Percy blinked as she walked away from him. How did she always know what he was planning to do?

He shook his head; it didn't matter. Reyna would always be Reyna.

He opened the door to his chambers and dug around the chaos that he called home (it was  _not_ his fault, it just, happened…), throwing clothes over his head, looking for the right article of clothing he needed for super-duper-sneaky-stealth-mission-number-five-thousand-and-fifty-seven.

"Yes!" Percy shouted happily, and pulled the plain brown cotton out of the bottom of his chest. It was the only thing he owned that came from the peasants, and his pater didn't know about it.

He pulled the comfortable material up to his cheek and nodded against it. He grinned like a maniac for a moment, and then he draped it over his shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. Percy pulled his hood up and glanced in the mirror. The ridiculous grin he would  _never_ wear if someone else was around worked its way back on his face when he noticed he looked super mysterious. No, really. His face was covered in shadows and people would only know he was tall.

He even did a little dance as he walked out the door.

…And then he began walking, and walking, and walking. He tried to count his steps, but lost count somewhere after three thousand.

…And then he was standing in front of the doors to where the slaves were held, and Percy rested his hand against them. He swallowed a lump in his throat back. He had never been here before—his pater forbade him, so why was he doing this just because he felt like he had something to prove to Annabeth? It wasn't like he owed her anything—it was probably the other way around. So why was he going against direct orders like this? And on her account too.

Perhaps that rebellious streak he had when he was younger was coming back, the one he had before his mater died when she was returning from a visit from Sparta.

He shook his head and began to turn away. This was madness, absolute madness. He shouldn't be doing this—and his pater would throw a fit if—no,  _when_ he found out.

_You're no coward._

Percy clenched his jaw as Annabeth's voice echoed in his head. He was; he was a coward. He wasn't brave like Jason or Reyna or Frank or Hazel—he wasn't brave like  _she_  was. He was a coward. His pater said so.

_It's alright to be scared… all that matters is that you don't give into that fear…_

He was only using common sense…

But, his feet were moving like they had a will of their own, and his hand was pressing against the door. Percy gritted his teeth, it was just a door. Besides, he was the Heir Apparent. Why on Earth should he be denied access to something that would be rightfully his one day?

But, he couldn't…

_Can't, or won't?_

…What in Tartarus had he signed himself up for when he married her?

He pushed the door open.

~…~

The first thing that hit him was the stench.

Percy gagged and he reached up, his eyes watering slightly as he plugged his nose. Gods, no human could live in this place, slave or not. It wasn't right.

"Who goes there?" a hoarse voice asked, and then a spear was shoved under his nose. Percy went cross-eyed trying to keep it in view. "The Caesar ain't allowin' peasants here."

Percy coughed and unplugged his nose. Somehow, he even heroically stopped himself from gagging at the smell of urine and bad milk. And horse dung. And rotten eggs…  _especially_ the rotten eggs. And yes, he did know what those smell like—it was an accident.

"Apologies, my good sir, I don't believe you recognize me." He said, automatically reverting to his formal way of speech.

The guard raised an eyebrow, and Percy swallowed. He should turn back; it was obvious that this person would tell his pater he was here. In fact, the Caesar will probably go on a rampage when he finds out someone was here in the first place…. He shouldn't have come; the populus will probably get in trouble for something  _he_  did. Again.

"Lord Perseus?" a soft, croaky voice suddenly came from in front of Percy, and he looked over the guard's shoulder. A man stood in the bars, reaching out toward him. His hair was white and thin, and his clothes looked more like a sack of rags than anything. "Is that you?"

Percy took a step closer to the man, cautiously, in case he was about to attack. His hand automatically rested on the hilt of his sword.

"Yes."

The man had tears in his eyes as he reached out, as if he was trying to touch him. Percy took a step back.

"Bless my soul… lad, you've grown so much."

Percy blinked, "Do I know you?"

"Wait, are you the Heir Apparent?" the guard's eyes were wide when Percy looked back at him. He grimaced—he had been discovered— and knocked his hood off. The guard's eyes went wide and he fell on his hands and knees. His forehead literally touched the floor.

"Forgive me, my liege. I didn't know it was you. I ain't meaning harm."

A small part wanted to let the man panic, but another part —the one that sounded suspiciously like Reyna and Hazel— was telling him to stop being a bully.

But, there was one other part that sounded just a tiny bit like something Annabeth would say… though that could just be him. He was a genius after all.

( _When Jason found out about that later, he would say, "In your dreams, Percy…")_

"I won't take offense this one time, so long word does not get out that I was here."

The guard nodded so fast that it looked like his head was about to fall off his shoulders. He actually hit the floor once, too. "Of course, sire. I would never tell anyone, your highness. Of course not, my lord."

Percy rolled his eyes since the man was still practically kissing the ground. Maybe he was. Bootlickers, the lot of them. That was the reason why he put up with Grover—at least thefaun (satyr, whatever) didn't make a fool out of himself. Even though he had an unhealthy love of pulling practical jokes…

"…your mother would be so proud…"

Percy spun around at that little sentence and the speed of his heart sped up. He should have been listening to this person—he wouldn't have been wasting his time and patience. The slave (prisoner?) was staring at him with round eyes.

"What do you know of my mater?" he asked, that familiar desperation surging through him as he thought of the woman he could not remember.

"She was wonderful, so kind." he wiped a tear from his eye, "Your father loved her so much, it was clear every time he looked at her."

He frowned.  _Odd, pater always has contempt on his face when he talks of mater…_

"She was a wonderful Lady, and I was proud to have served her…"

"Ignore him, Heir Apparent. He's one of those mad barbarians—the  _Graecus_. Uncivilized, the lot of them. And we get so many coming from the war."

"What?" Percy interrupted, "What war?" He paused, and added for good measure, "You're also instigating my wife is a barbarian."

It was odd how easy the word came to him now…

The guard's eyes went wide. "You don't know?"

Percy was barely able to stop himself from looking at the dingy ceiling. "Of course not," he snapped. "Otherwise I would not ask." The guard winced, but Percy ignored him. "This war?"

"Ya don' kna' 'bout the Macedonian 'ispute, or the Spart'n one?"

"Sparta!" He nearly yelped. His mater was from Sparta. In fact, he had been  _born_ in Sparta during one of his mater's trips, though he hadn't been there since. He paused. "Macedonia?" he was pretty sure he had heard the name before, but he had no idea  _where_ …

The guard nodded, shifting closer to him. Percy stepped away discreetly.

"It's a province a little Eas' of we, on the other side o' the Mare Nostrum—the whole lo' of 'em are Barbarians."

He shot him a look of disapproval, but he decided that he could figure out what these 'disputes' where about later. There was someone he had to talk to.

"Where is the slave girl?" he asked, "The one who fought in the Gladiators."

"That tiny little thing? She's four cells down, on the right. Just a warning though, she's got spirit, even if you intend to break her. Pretty little thing too…"

He managed to stop himself from throwing up as he realized what the man was implying, and began the walk, holding his shoulders back, the way his pater had taught him.

He wasn't how long it took him either, perhaps it was candlewicks, or heartbeats, but he was somehow standing in front of the girl's cell. He couldn't help but think she didn't look very 'spirited', with her head hanging down and hugging her legs. In fact, Percy thought she was crying.

But then she looked up, and he stopped.

Those weren't the eyes of someone who had given up—those were the eyes of a warrior, a hero. Those were the eyes of a seasoned veteran coming back from the Syrian Wars.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice hoarse from lack of use. "I swear to Hades, if you're going to attempt to drag me off to another bloody battle…"

Percy almost smiled.

"No, actually. I'm not."

She raised an eyebrow, "Well then,  _sire_ , are you just here to waste my last moments on this earth being annoyed at you, or is there another reason?"

"I'll admit it; annoying you is rather tempting, but no. I don't have the time to do that. My wife noticed you in the arena, you may know of her. Her name is Annabeth; Princess Annabeth of Greece."

The girl turned an interesting shade close to the color of parchment. "I know her," she said softly. "We used to play together when we were girls."

Percy hoped he hid his surprise well. Maybe that saying was right; it's a small world. "You did?"

She smiled ruefully, though her gaze was unfocused. "It was a long time ago. I doubt she'd recognize me."

"You don't know that; she may have subconsciously. She sent me here to talk to you."

She looked at him, but while her gaze was as piercing as Annabeth's, it wasn't hostile. "What are you doing here, seeing a lowly slave like me?"

"Curiosity," he admitted, shrugging. "And as I said, Annabeth sent me here. What are  _you_  doing here, as a lowly slave? You speak Latin well. If I didn't know any better, I would think you were an aristocrat in disguise."

The girl rubbed the back of her head, "I was stupid, actually. Our village was burning due to slavers setting it alight, and I ran right into them. At least my brother got away."

Percy frowned slightly, "That's not stupid. You were afraid, and you didn't know what was going on."

She smiled ruefully, "It doesn't matter anymore. It's been years and I've lived this long, though I suppose this is the end of the line for me." She sighed and tilted her head back, so that she looked at the ceiling. For some reason, Percy couldn't stop looking at the way her long dark hair pooled over her shoulders. "My only regret is that I never got to tell him sorry."

"I don't think you've got anything to be sorry for." She rolled her head, and Percy's throat suddenly felt rather dry. "You were protecting him, and that is all that matters."

She shrugged slightly, as if she didn't really believe him, and changed the subject. "You're different from your father."

Percy shrugged in the same manner she had. "I don't know."

She turned so she was facing him. "No, really. Octavius wouldn't give a rat's nest over a slave like me—I bet he sees us as some kind of horse. Useful when we work, but otherwise useless."

"That's not true…" Percy said in automatically, but it sounded hollow, even to his own ears. The girl regarded him sadly.

"You don't really believe yourself, do you?" Percy only looked away, and she let out a breathy sigh. "You've got the potential to be a great leader, Perseus. Perhaps the greatest. But you're blinded by your love to your father—you can't see your people are suffering. You can't see that things have to be changed."

Percy stood up abruptly and he began to walk away. He was about to throw something—he knew it. That white hot feeling in the center of his chest was burning again and—

A hand reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. It was like he had been glued to the spot.

He looked at the girl, his heart beating like crazy. She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing, like she was thinking. He wondered if they were good thoughts.

"Do you want your people to be terrified of you? Do you want mindless minions rather than friends? A kingdom… is not a kingdom without its people. A king isn't a king without his people, just like the people are not a people without their king. You need each other to exist. Because, one day, Rome will fall, just like Greece and Egypt. And would you rather it remembered a great kingdom with a happy population? Or do you want it to be a place remembered in mankind's darkest memory, like the bogey man?" She removed her hand, but Percy remained rooted to the spot. He couldn't look away from her eyes.

Her features softened a little. "Is this really the way you want to rule this land, Perseus?"


	8. Capvt XIII: An Example of Humanity

Capvt VIII: An Example of Humanity

**Annabeth**   
_Spring, X176 BC_

* * *

Sometimes, Annabeth wondered what she had done to make the gods hate her so much. She really did.

She wondered why they had gifted her with a sharp tongue, quite often in fact. It would be so much easier if she was compliant like some of the other princesses to the city states—like Sophia from Somos.* Then she would be perfectly fine with marrying some Heir Apparent that should had never even met before. Although, she was  _very_ lucky when it came to Percy…

In fact, she wondered why Athena had ever given her the  _wonderful_ gift of wanting ever more knowledge about the world around her, but she couldn't read. So, alas, she couldn't read Aristotle or Plato or Euclid or Archimedes or any of the rest. In fact, it was only by luck that she had been able to listen to the adventures of the great Hero, Odysseus, when she had been a little girl. Back then, it hadn't been considered improper for her to intermingle with the common-born children.

That, along with the bloody destiny to be some kind of 'Champion of Olympus' or something.

Actually, she wished she wasn't a princess of Greece. She was still miffed about the fact that her father had forced her to marry Percy. Though, she had to admit, Annabeth was incredibly lucky when it came to the fact that he was her husband and not some creep…

But that didn't change the fact that she had had no choice about it.

Suddenly, there was a slight sound, like the creak of a foot walking up the wooden stairs. Annabeth blinked and looked up quickly, realizing with a bit of a start that she had been glowering at the arena for quite some time. The slaves had been brought back.

It was Percy.

His face was pale and drawn though, as though he hadn't slept properly last night, though that was silly. Annabeth hadn't heard any indication that he was awake, seeing as she knew that it was impossible for him to keep still for some reason. Perhaps he had a great shock? Or maybe he had injured himself and was steadily losing blood?

But there was no blood…

"Percy?" she asked as he sat down next to her, promptly leaning over and propping his forehead in his palms. She placed a hand on his bare shoulder and rubbed it like her father used to when she was stressed over something. His body relaxed and he looked up at her with those big green eyes. They looked scary though; they looked more the sea when it was storming outside. Rough, untamable and dangerous.

"What's wrong?"

His eyebrows joined together in a frown, and he opened his mouth to reply. "I talked to the—"

"Perseus, Annabeth!"

Percy instantly straightened his back at the Caesar's voice, and Annabeth quickly placed her hand back where it belonged and glanced over his shoulder.

The Caesar was looking at them with a sort of, predatory gleam in his eyes.

"This is not the time to be making grandbabies, Heir Apparents."

Annabeth frowned in confusion, not getting what he was implying until Percy began stuttering. Her ears suddenly felt hot. She quickly scooted away from her husband while Artorius smiled at her with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

"We're not— _pater_ —of course not now!"

The Caesar sat down on the right side of Percy, and Annabeth grimaced and quickly turned to Artorius. She had started to realize that the Caesar had a rather… perverse sense of imagination. That made her blush quite a bit, especially when images started to pop into her head…

"So, you and Perseus, huh?"

Annabeth groaned. "Be quiet, it's not like that."

"Yet." He  _winked_ at her, and she resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Instead, she crossed her legs and scratched the inside of her ankle.

"We should be quiet, the Caesar will hear us."

He smirked slightly, "Yes, but I believe that he and Heir Apparent Perseus are too busy arguing about your sexual lives to pay attention to our bickering."

Annabeth buried her head in her hands.  _Crazy Romans_   _and Brits._

"Please don't say it like that. Besides, shouldn't we pay attention to the Gladiators? I believe they're going to start again."

Artorius seemed to take pity on her, or perhaps the middle-aged ( _but handsome!_ ) man had decided to save his teasing for another time. It was probably the latter. He nodded and focused his attention on the arena, and Annabeth pressed her lips together as tight as she could so that she could focus on that than her rather hyperactive imagination.

This  _damn_  culture was beginning to wear off on her.

They were silent for the moment, with Percy and the Caesar arguing over a verity of topics though that made no sense to Annabeth. She knew her husband was terrified of his father, so to be able to argue like that… or maybe it was just over topics that held no real meaning.

Plus, Percy was smiling.

And then Annabeth forgot about the two of them when the dim roar of the crowds sent her ears ringing. Her heart started to beat quicker than normal and her fingers felt clammy. Somewhere off to the side, she saw the praetors—Jason and Reyna, those were their names— sitting (well, the latter was lounging…) in the seats where the Praetors usually sat. A group of people sat around them, mismatched in ages and sizes. There was no apparent order, but this was  _Rome_ after all—not Greece. She was sure there would be some kind of order, even though she didn't see it at first.

Thalia, Luke and Piper sat close to the two praetors, though a seat was missing a person—it was probably meant for Nico. But Annabeth had a feeling he wouldn't come, he would find all this mindless violence and death sickening.

In fact, it made Annabeth feel sick to her stomach herself.

And then the Gladiator appeared, and the crowd roared. Annabeth bit her lip and kept her eyes on the poor slaves, her gaze drawn to the only girl whose back was pressed against the rock and her chin was lifted up. There were only five slaves left.

"Not him!" Percy's harsh voice jerked her away from them, and looked at her husband who had turned to the Caesar. She could tell that he was practically bristling with how stiff his posture was, and she suddenly felt very glad that she was not the one on the receiving end of his glare. "Pater— why him of all people? I thought he was just watching!"

The Caesar looked far from pleased, as if he was annoyed with his son. Shivers ran up and down Annabeth's spine as his chilly gaze rested on Percy.

"The crowds need action."

"You call this  _action_?" Percy sounded outraged, and Annabeth wondered if he had forgotten who he was speaking to. And who was here. She glanced at Artorius, who was staring at the two arguing parties with an eyebrow raised, but there was a strange gleam in his eyes, not unlike Luke when Thalia had shown him Backbiter, and then he promptly ended up kissing her, purely out of elation…

"No, I call this politics." The Caesar's voice was cool.

"Why Morrigan though? You know how he is! He—he's a psychopath. He'll  _torture_ them before the kill—at least make their death swift." Annabeth wasn't sure if she should be alarmed by how easily he said that, or thankful that Percy had enough mercy in him to not  _want_ their deaths to be prolonged…

"Mind your tongue, Perseus." The Caesar's voice was suddenly as sharp as his gaze, which had turned from icy to daggers. "Remember where we are—we do not want our  _populus_ to think there is disunity between their royals; imagine the chaos it would cause."

Percy tightened his jaw and clenched the armrests so hard that Annabeth thought they would break. His lips were in a very thin line (almost nonexistent) and his eyes were churning, like huge waves crashing against great rocks and cliffs…

"I'm sorry, pater," his voice was stiff. "I spoke out of term."

And that was that.

Annabeth looked back at the arena, but clenched her fists so hard that her nails began to dig into the edge of her palms. Pain shot through her in small waves, but she didn't pay any attention to that for the moment.

Instead, she had fixed her gaze on the place where Morrigan was slowly stalking onto the five slaves, like a cat with a mouse. Her heart was in her throat, and chills were going up and down her spine.

And then he darted forward like a viper.

A bang,

Dust.

Blood… everywhere.

Bodies, in a thousand different particles.

More blood.

Something sharp and bitter rose in the back of her throat, and Annabeth clamped her hand over her mouth and turned away from the gruesome scene. Gods… the images were going to be seared in her mind until the day she died.

When she looked up, she saw what was left the bodies — _don't think about them—_ and how at least half of the Coliseum had been blown up.

And then, clapping erupted and the cheers seemed to shake the ground. Annabeth felt like a stone had been dropped in her stomach as bile rose in her throat again. They were  _cheering_ for this, this— this _massacre?_ It wasn't right—it was horrible and there was  _nothing_ like this in Greece and…

She suddenly wanted to just go home.

But, that was not meant to be. She was the future heir of a rapidly expanding empire. She had responsibilities now, and she was not one to shy away from commitments… or fears.

So, when Annabeth glanced at Percy out of the corner of her eye for some reason she couldn't comprehend or even understood—instinct, perhaps, or something more, she saw that his eyes had averted and he was staring at their clasped hands (when had that happened?) with a frightening intensity. His jaw had clenched, and he had turned slightly pale.

Annabeth took a deep breath and switched her gaze back to the arena…

…and immediately regretted it.

But she couldn't remove her eyes from the grotesque sight. Yes, the exploded/flaming bodies were horrible (and sickening) but that—that  _monster_ was stalking on the girl like she was a mouse… eyeing her like she was a piece of meat… the eyes of a predator… like a cat… monster… death… killer… murderer… monster… he was going to kill a girl left to his mercy… his tongue wetted his lips…

Annabeth shot out of her chair and she marched right on up to the Caesar, who was standing at the podium, looking down on them with an eerie expression.

"Stop, please." She pleaded, seizing the Caesar's arm so that he couldn't ignore her. He turned to look at her, "She's just a child."

And then the Caesar sneered, his features twisting into something darker and Annabeth thought she knew why Percy both feared and loved this man.

"This isn't a Game, princess. These are politics."

"No they're not! They're ruthless slaughter! Your people will revolt if this keeps on continuing—that girl is not even fifteen summers—stop this, I beg of you!"

"Stop this foolishness, girl. How can someone barely of seventeen summers comprehend the meaning of how important this is? Do you see the people ready to revolt?" he spread his arms out in an extravagant gesture, and all Annabeth saw was blurred faces and red.

"These aren't your people—they're just courtiers and generals looking out for themselves. Your people are down  _there_ ," she pointed in the Coliseum, though she had no idea what the specific target was. "Your people are the slaves who you see as cockroaches or ants. Your people are the men and women and children in the villages, fighting everyday to keep food on their table, fearing for when you call out another tax to which they may have to become a slave—"

" _Enough!_ " he shouted, and Annabeth stopped. Her heart leapt to her throat when she saw the way he was staring at her—like she was dead meat. "You  _dare_  speak to your superior like this?"

And at his tone, Annabeth lost all rational thoughts.

"Hades yes, I do." She lifted her chin up, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Percy was biting his bottom lip to the point that he was drawing blood and his knuckles had gone white due to the grip he had on the armrests of the chair. He hadn't even looked up. She focused her attention back on the Caesar, who looked stunned, as if he hadn't expected her to speak out against him like that.  _Well, too bad for him;_  Annabeth thought viciously. She wasn't a simpleton, and she was certainly wasn't one to hold her tongue on most matters.

"With all due respect, sir, those people are starving out there. They cannot afford your taxes, thus they sell themselves to become slaves—many of which for these barbaric  _games_ you host. Caesar, that girl, is not fifteen summers— _don't do this._ The gods will curse you and this land—"

—there was a pain in her right cheek, hot and icy at the same time, and it  _stung_ and smarted, and her head was whipped to one side—

And then there was a rough but gentle hand on the side of her face that wasn't hurting like Tartarus, and Percy's ocean-like eyes swam into her vision, full of open concern and there was something else in that gaze… fury? No, annoyance? No. Anger? Maybe…

"Caesar!" a small part of her noticed that he didn't call Octavius 'pater' or 'father', and she filed it away for later examination. "This is my wife. You shouldn't have,  _slapped_ her!"

"Perseus," the Caesar's voice was sharp.

"And besides, she does have a point—" Annabeth's vision was clearing, and she realized that Percy had twisted around so that he was looking the Caesar in the eye,  _for once._ "—showing mercy will get the _populus_  on better terms with you."

Annabeth looked at the Caesar herself. The man had an ugly twisted expression on his face.

And then he made a series of hand gestures with one hand, and all the blood seemed to drain out of Percy's face. Several guards suddenly marched from the shadows and flocked the two of them.

Percy shoved her behind his back, but not before she saw that his face had a very un-Percy like snarl on it. "Don't touch her!" his tone was angry, but there was also a slight tremble in it—fear? "I swear to the River Styx, I will kill you if you hurt her."

There was a loud ominous boom, despite the fact that there was not a cloud in the sky, and Annabeth felt unease trickle in her consciousness. That was a  _Greek_ oath—it was very much _not_  Roman, and Annabeth knew the ramifications of it. But how Percy knew of it was beyond her—she had only sworn on the River Styx once, and that was before she even heard of the engagement, let alone meeting and then marrying Percy.

Octavius certainly knew what it was, because he glanced at the skies nervously, and then back at her and Percy.

"Only take Perseus," he finally said after a long moment of silence, and for some inexplicable reason, Percy relaxed slightly. "I'll take the princess," …and then he tensed up again.

And before she knew it, the Caesar had taken a hold of her arm just above her elbow and was leading her away. His grip was so tight it almost hurt, but Annabeth was determined not to let any pain show on her face, which stung horribly.

In no time at all, they were standing in front of her and Percy's chambers, and for a moment, Annabeth felt icy cold as a thought invaded her mind – _was he…?—_ but the Caesar didn't assault her. He only threw/pushed her onto the red carpet and loomed over her in the doorframe. Annabeth gulped.

Oh, she had just oh-so-massively screwed up.

"Be grateful your husband is Perseus, and not someone who would bat an eyebrow at proper discipline—otherwise I would have  _you_ flogged even more times than him."

Oh.

_Oh._

Octavius turned his back on her… and walked out the door.

* * *

_*Somos is a Greek City-State. I was unable to pinpoint exact dates for when it was around, other than the fact that it was mentioned when I was reading about Athens and Sparta, so I would assume it was before the Peloponnesian Wars (431-404 BC), so, technically, this could be considered incorrect for 175 BC. In fact, it probably is. And Sophia is just a name I made up._


	9. Capvt IX: A Hidden Nobility

Capvt IX: A Hidden Nobility

_Annabeth_   
**Spring, x176 BC**

* * *

Time seemed to blur together for Annabeth until she had no sense of it left. She was left entirely alone to her dark thoughts—and the crippling onslaught of guilt. What had she done? How did it turn out this way? All she wanted was to stop Octavius from ruthlessly slaughtering a young girl—and then she somehow got Percy into a horrible situation; and that girl was probably in a worse state than when she had been in the coliseum.

 _All your fault,_ a voice inside of her head reminded Annabeth.  _After all, doesn't this happen every time you try to do something good?_

Annabeth shook her head at the rather nasty voice and began to pace.  _There was that one time I saved Nico though._

_You were the one who blurted out he's Spartan._

She clenched her jaw and very forcibly made her mind go blank. It was just her conscious talking—and besides… maybe Octavius wouldn't really go through with the lashings. After all, he was his son, and it wasn't like Percy had kidnapped someone or anything. In fact, he had only spoken out because of  _her_  big fat mouth.

"That's right," she whispered, stopping and looking at herself in the mirror on top of her dresser. She looked tired in her reflection, and her hair had fallen out of the elegant bun Percy had fixed. "Octavius wouldn't do something that horrible. It is a punishment fit for kidnappers and rapists and murderers, and even then that's soft."

But a voice that sounded suspiciously like her brother, Malcolm, was whispering;  _but you aren't in Athens* anymore—this is Rome._

She shoved that voice to the back of her mind. She was just being silly— and paranoid. No father would do that to his son. It just wasn't right.

Unless, of course, you were Hades. But even then, he had done that to Nico by accident- made him seperate from his sister.

There was a loud squeak —the door, probably— and Annabeth spun around. A guard stood in the frame, his arms folded over his chest, eyeing her with a gaze that made her skin crawl with goosebumps. A horrible feeling formed in her gut, and she tilted her head up and squared her shoulders back. Someone had told her that to show weakness left you vulnerable to attacks.

"His Excellency says you may leave now."

Annabeth nearly sagged with relief as she realized she was free from this house-arrest. How long had it been? Two bell rings, three? She stepped closer to the door, but he didn't step out of her way.

 _What if he's..._ she cut the thought off before it could continue into something horrible. It didn't stop her from remembering the time when a bear had attacked her.

"Sir?" she began, trying to resist the urge to tap her fingers against her side, to jump around. "I implore for you to move aside."

The guard grinned showing that his teeth were crocked and yellow, and even a few were missing or chipped. Annabeth slowly began to back into a table as he stepped inside of her and Percy's chambers—which was  _very much_ not proper,  _at all_. Her hand scrambled around for something,  _anything,_  as he loomed over her; his breath stank of something foul, and her heart had started to quicken.

_I've got a very, very bad feeling…_

He took her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him, and his grasp wasn't  _at all_ like Percy's. Even though his was rough, he hadn't really hurt her, and she hadn't felt scared of him. Well, she had, but not in this way.

 _Ouch!_ Her hand nicked on something sharp, like a dagger or knife…

"I'm sure Perseus won't mind if he shares…" he sounded a little breathless, and his gaze dropped from her eyes to her chest. She tried not to gag, but her hands were beginning to get sweaty and she wondered if he could hear her heart. She carefully began to run her fingers up and down the blade, looking for the hilt. "After all, that's what we men do. Share our wrenches."

Annabeth curled in on herself as he stepped so that he was pressed flush against her body. "I… I demand for you to step away."

The man's nasty grin widened, "Feisty one, eh? Perseus is a lucky one then."

And several things happened at once.

Just as Annabeth found the hilt of the dagger, the man moved seized her chin and jerked her head back. Her chest seemed to tighten, her vision sharped and she suddenly felt wide awake. She whipped the dagger— or was it a knife? _—_ out in front of her, jerked her head out of his grasp, and twisted away from him somehow, ducking as his fist sailed where her head had been just moments before.

She paused for half a heartbeat and saw an advantage. He had left his chest wide open when he had thrown that punch—his  _right_ side, if she was not mistaken.

She surged up and latched onto the front of his shirt, twisting the dagger into a better grasp, and held it right over his heart. The lecherous guard's eyes had gone wide, hopefully with fear or surprise, though Annabeth couldn't really tell which.

All the blood was rushing through her brain, but her thoughts were startling clear as she realized what just transpired. What almost happened to her. An urge to burst into tears and throw up almost overwhelmed her, but she forced it back. She could cry later, she had to be strong right now.

A plan began to form in the back of her mind, and she began talking.

"I wouldn't, if I were you." Her voice sounded foreign to her ears. Cold, distant—almost like her father's when he was talking to her. "I have the blood of the gods running through my veins."

The guard went pale. "Y-you're one of those villainous demigods?"

Annabeth pressed the dagger into his chest a little more, A small splat of blood stained his leather and her hands.  _Must not be made right;_ she scoffed inwardly. Outwardly, "Mind your tongue, filth. I have your life in my hands."

He didn't need to know that she wouldn't kill him—the thought of killing another human being, no matter how despicable he was, made her sick to her stomach.

"You can't… you're just a girl…" he looked uneasy though, and Annabeth barred her teeth at him in an imitation of Luke's 'I-Am-Going-To-Turn-You-Into-A-Pile-Of-Shrimp-Kabob' glare. It must have worked, since he went paler than a specter.

"Do you really want to try me?"

The coward swallowed, and Annabeth felt a vindictive pleasure at seeing him so nervous. His shifty little piggy eyes seemed to search her face, but she made sure it was impassive. It was something she excelled at- hiding your emotions since childhood did have some benefits.

"Now," she let her lips curl up into a mocking smile as she made sure her voice was as smooth as silk, She was in control; she was  _not at all_ terrified. "I can tell  _Lord_  Perseus about this little incident, along with the Caesar, and let them handle it…" she paused for a moment, to let her words sink in and enjoyed his look of absolute terror. " _Or_ I can keep quiet in exchange for something."

He looked relieved yet worried at the same time, "For what?"

Annabeth let a smirk curl her lips up and she held her left wrist—the one not holding the dagger—up. His jaw dropped a tiny bit, and she knew he knew what the tattoo of a medallion with an upside horseshoe meant. He knew what her mother had done to her. "Do you know what this is?" she made her voice soft, but her tone was deadly.

"Y-you're—"

She plowed on, interrupting his splutter. "Yes, I am a Champion of Olympus— one of the last, actually." Annabeth tossed her head a little before she looked at him dead in the eye. Time to turn the tables on him— this could actually work in her favor. "In return for your life… if I am ever found out, either as a Demigod or a Champion, I want you to free me."

"I could die!"

"Just like you could die now," she reminded him sharply. "You'll be a traitor either way— either because you assaulted me or because you tried to free me. Your choice; die now for sure, or have the have the possibility to live a little longer, scum though you are. I really don't care."

The man swallowed hard and he nodded once, curtly. "I'll free you."

Annabeth smirked and stepped away from him, a slightly hysterical-giddy feeling erupting inside of her. She had managed to defend herself from an assault. She was alright! But... Percy was not.

The feeling went away like a bucket of icy water had been dumped over her head, and then she had smacked into a tree, and then Leo had smashed a wrench in the back of her head. For good measure.

"Where is my husband?"

"Outside," was his short answer. Annabeth nodded once and turned her back, even though it was a risky move. But she wanted to show him she wasn't afraid— that she was completely in charge.

"Remember your promise, though I did not make you swear on the River Styx."

She couldn't see if he nodded as the door slammed shut behind her with a certain kind of finality.

She placed her head in her freehand and took a few deep breaths, trying to steady her nerves. It was a good thing Percy had that dagger on his desk, otherwise he could've—

She stifled the sob that rose in her throat and glanced at the weapon she was holding in her hand. It didn't look like much. In fact, it was simple compared to some of the weapons she'd seen, but there was a certain kind of elegance to it that appealed to her.

 _I'm fine,_ she told herself.  _Nothing happened, and Percy needs you._

* * *

Annabeth felt like someone was watching her. She felt like there were predatory eyes boring into the back of her neck. But every time she looked back, there was no one. So she tried to push it into the back of her mind— after all, she wasn't superstitious, and Athena would be ashamed of her. But there was that feeling still lurking, and she kept jumping at small noises.

Perhaps that was the reason she had grabbed a cloak, —not from her and Percy's chambers, she would only step in  _there_ once Percy was with her— so that she could hide herself from prying eyes. She didn't want anyone to realize the former Princess of Greece ( _technically_ , it was only Athens) and now Heir Apparent of Roma, was walking amongst them.

Conversation drifted like wild fire around her, and Annabeth found that she was feeling rather dizzy with it all—

" _—need to get food for my lord—"_

_"—have you seen Gwen?"_

_"—and Katie is like a blimp with Travis' child!"_

_"When do you think heirs will be coming around?"_

That last bit made Annabeth feel warm. And nervous. How—why in Tartarus where they already gossiping about stuff like that? She had barely been married to Percy for a week! Had they no shame?

...not only that, but she didn't want  _anyone_ to touch her now. Not even Percy.  _Especially_ not Percy.

Then again… gossip like this had happened just after Luke and Thalia married almost two years ago (no baby— yet). Granted, their marriage was under  _very_ different circumstances, and they probably  _had_ been making love long before that…

Honestly, a part of Annabeth was envious that they got a choice— that they very much loved each other. But then again, it wasn't like she and Percy downright hated each other— in fact, if she dared to think of— maybe they were… even friends, almost.

No, not really friends—not yet. It was something more than strangers and acquaintances, but not exactly friendship. One day, probably.

_Percy!_

Annabeth stopped right there and then in the hallway, as if a physical force had yanked her chest and stomach out and was standing behind her, taunting…

She spun around, closing her mouth against her sudden chokes and gasps so that they would not be heard by whoever had assaulted her.

Nobody.

So, she was being paranoid… Athena would scorn her for this. But Annabeth couldn't help it— there was that feeling, that someone was burning holes in the back of her head. That suffocation that was similar to drowning (unfortunately, she was speaking from experience). That feeling of greasy, slimy hands running up and down, pushing her down and pinning her arms—

Annabeth shook her head roughly, more like a jerk really, and wrapped her arms around herself. At least she got her stomach and heart back, though now there was an unpleasant feeling in the back of her throat— like bile was trying to make its way up.

 _I'm just being a sissy,_ she told herself.  _In fact,_ Percy  _needs_ your  _help right now so you better put your act together and figure out where the Styx he is. Otherwise you'll feel even guiltier and the gods will blast you a thousand years into the future—and then what?_

_Wait. Percy. He needs you now, Annabeth._

In fact, Annabeth's feet had carried her outside somewhere—though how and when she got there, she did not know. All that she knew was that she was completely, utterly lost in the crowds.

Where was he? She had to find him. Annabeth knew the Caesar couldn't be… that… that…

Cruel.

"Oh gods," Annabeth breathed as she battled her way through a thick crowd that seemed to be congregated in one particular area.

There was the sound of laughter and jeers and… Percy.

Oh gods. Oh  _gods_.

"Percy!" her scream sounded far away as the the tormentors stopped— _doing that. S_ he lifted the skirts of the toga (the dress?) up and ran over to him. She fell to her knees by his side and reached out to touch his back—his  _bloodstained back_ and how _could_ they _do_ something so _barbaric_ to their _prince?_

Tears sprung into her eyes, "Oh gods, Percy… I'm so sorry…"

One of his eyes, the one that wasn't swollen and black and blue and suspiciously red, opened. Annabeth was unsurprised to find tears in them— a reflex, she was sure— and… how could he be  _smiling_?

"'s'not your f'ult."

Annabeth whirled around on the guards, one of whom was holding a whip, and reached for her dagger. There was no  _way_ she would let these  _barbarians_  hurt him anymore.

"Do you have no honor?" She demanded, "This is your  _Heir Apparent_. How could you… how could you  _do_ this to him?"

The guards glanced at each other uneasily, and then back at her. Annabeth planted her feet in front of Percy's still form (had he lost consciousness?), to protect him from their wrath. He had done the same for her; she wouldn't let this go on any longer. Hastily, Annabeth wiped at her face with the back of her hand; it would do no good to act like a little girl.

"The Caesar said twenty lashes."

"T-twenty!?" a part of her knew she shouldn't be surprised, but Annabeth couldn't stop herself. She quickly glanced over her shoulder. His arms were pinned under his chest and his eyes had closed; so he  _had_ blacked out. Maybe he won't feel more pain than necessary. "Why…"

"Ten for him, ten for you," his voice was clipped and short, as if things like this happened every day. Maybe they did.

Annabeth shook her head and turned back to Percy. She couldn't even find her voice to express the sudden white hot feeling in the middle of her chest, or the urge to run away and hide. And maybe she never would. How could they  _do_  something like this to their Heir Apparent?

It looked more than twenty lashes…

_Monsters._

"What did he  _do_?" a soft, shocked voice spoke above her, and Annabeth glanced up. A blond man stood next to her. His bright eyes were wide for a moment, but then they narrowed and drifted up and down Percy's prone form with a strange intensity. It reminded her of Luke, when he did the same for her. It was usually when she had done something stupid and got injured for it.

Annabeth dropped her gaze and studied her fingernails— there was dirt in them. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's all my fault."

"What?" the man's tone was sharp. There was a sudden pressure on her shoulder, and Annabeth flinched away from him. Her stomach twisted, even though she knew it was irrational. There was nothing even remotely sexual about the gesture.

Chase (no, wait, his name started with a 'J'…) tilted his head and his eyebrows had drawn together into a tiny frown. "What do you mean your fault?"

"I… my tongue ran away with me. I wasn't thinking, and then Percy was defending and the Caesar made these hand gestures and it's all so messed up…" she buried her head in her fingers and rocked back onto her heels.

"Oy, pull yourself together princess." Jase— no,  _Jason—_ snapped, though he didn't sound particularly mean. Just stern. Annabeth lowered her hands and barely managed to stop her jaw to drop. No one had ever  _dared_ to speak to her like that. "I really have no idea what in Tartarus Percy sees in you, but he spoke out against Octavius Caesar. So suck up whatever is bothering you and help me with him, because I, for one, won't be able to get him to Meg without adding more injuries, if you don't help."

Annabeth blinked; then she nodded. She wiped her right hand across her face, a nasty mixture of boggers and tears staining it, and she wiped it on her toga. She hated how weak she felt.

Quickly, she stashed the dagger she had borrowed from Percy and stashed it in the gold ribbon that held her toga shut.

"Okay."

* * *

"YE GODS, WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM?"

Annabeth winced at the sheer volume of the woman's voice. The physician's eyes were wide as she took in the state Percy was in, and Annabeth had no doubt that her ceremonial toga had been bloodstained. In fact, they probably looked like they had just walked through Tartarus.

"I'm sorry…"

Jason shot her a look and directed his gaze back to 'Meg'. "I think you may have to give her a nerve tonic. Anyway, Percy got into an argument with the Caesar. As you can tell, this is the result."

Meg's eyes were wide and full of sympathy— Annabeth hated it. Percy didn't need sympathy, he needed help.

Then she shook her head, "Bring him inside."

* * *

For a moment, Annabeth thought she was a little girl again and she had fallen asleep at one of her father's dinner parties. For a moment, she thought her father was running his hand through her hair as he always did to wake her up, before he grew so terribly stern.

But, it couldn't be King Fredrick's relatively smooth palm. For one, this one was stronger and surer, calloused by years of fighting with a sword. It was gentle, yet strong and comforting. Her father hated her now. She wasn't a little girl anymore. And Annabeth lived in Roma now…

She groaned loudly and opened her eyes. If she remembered correctly, she had refused to leave Percy's side, though Meg had insisted she move into a bed. So, she had… she had ended up curling up to Percy. She didn't want to, but she didn't want to leave his side, even if she had had to press up against him. So that was what she had done.

"I think you like stealing beds, Annabeth." Percy's voice was quiet, as if he was afraid to speak too loudly, but amused. Annabeth blinked a couple of times and his face stopped blurring together.

He looked a bit better. There were dark circles under his eyes, his face was gaunt, like he had lost five pounds in a day, and his face was pale, like he had just lost most of the blood in his body. Which he had. But she knew he would recover. Probably.

...wait, shouldn't he still be passed out?

"Are you alright?" she ignored his former statement. She pushed herself up with one arm and hovered over him.

"I'm fine," he said, too quickly. And there was a grimace on his face. Annabeth frowned at him and gently touched his side, which caused him to gasp, as if in pain.

She shook her head at him and fought a smile back. He reminded her a little of Luke, just a little.

"Water, please?" his voice was slightly raspy for some reason, but Annabeth only spared that a moment's thought. She moved her weight back off her arm and sat on her haunches by his waist. She reached across his body and grabbed the pitcher, then braced her weight again.

She poured the water and placed the jug back. Then she shifted again and held his head up so that he wouldn't spill it all over himself and held the glass to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut and it disappeared quickly. Silently, she repeated the process.

"Thank you," she murmured. He glanced at her, as if confused. Annabeth realized he had stopped drinking, so she placed the glass where it belonged on the table.

"What for?"

She forgot how to breathe for a moment. Percy… he looked genuinely confused, not arrogant or haughty, with that stupid grin on his face that she was growing used to. He didn't even look knowing. It was like he genuinely didn't know what he had just done. For her.

"For… everything. Saving me from that Cyclopes, becoming my husband…" she didn't mention that night, as he probably knew what she was  _really_ talking about. "…stopping the Caesar."

He tilted his head. "That was nothing," it wasn't a dismissal or him waving something off, it was like he was stating a simple fact. "Besides, I doubt pater would really hurt you."

"Percy… Meg said you had twenty-five lashes, instead of the ten you would have gotten if you hadn't defended me. And a few of your ribs had cracked. And your wrist was sprained."

She glanced away from him so she couldn't read his expression. She didn't want to know if he was hurt or angry, because it would be all her fault. That chasm that had opened in her stomach just after the Caesar left widened, and she had to physically fight tears back by biting into her bottom lip.

"I'm sure… he didn't know," he sounded hesitant, and she spun around to stare at him. Surely, he couldn't  _believe_ Octavius was innocent in all of this? "Maybe the guards' disobeyed his orders?"

"Why would he order them to flog you in the first place though? No father would do that to their child— not unless he hated him."

Percy shook his head, "No. He does love me. He just doesn't show it. Maybe he… I don't know, maybe he thinks speaking out like that in public is a crime suitable to get… flogged."

She pressed down on his chest. He was getting himself worked up and she didn't want him to injure himself. Maybe telling this to him right now was not the best time—in fact, it wasn't.

She licked her lips. "You're right; this is all just a big misunderstanding. I'm sorry, Percy." Maybe she would regret those words later, but for now, she needed him to calm down. She could certainly hold him back right now, but he would end up hurting himself trying to prove her wrong. Again.

"What about the slave girl?" his body went less tense, and Annabeth couldn't help but feel guilty for lying to him. One day, it would come back around, the topic. One day, he would realize just how horrible Octavius really was, and he would probably yell at her for this. But for now, she didn't want him to stress out. Much.

"Her?" she tried not to sound guilty, but he seemed to pick up on something. His eyes narrowed and she shifted. "Octavius placed her in the holding cells for the night, I think. I really forgot about her until now— the only reason I know that is because Jason helped me get you here."

He nodded slowly. "Okay… she's safe until morning, and Reyna will probably already have ten different plans."

They went silent for what seemed to be a long time, but the moon didn't move.

"I should go and help her," she announced. She pushed herself off the bed. "It's because of my stupidity that she is facing execution on the morrow."

She made to take a step away from Percy, closer to the door, but he stopped her— it had to have been him, since no one else was there. Annabeth looked down at her wrist, where there was a strange, but not entirely foreign warmth engulfing it…

He held her arm in a gentle, but firm grip, making hers seem tiny in comparison with his. She glanced up at him, only to find him staring at her with an almost vulnerable emotion etched both on his face and deep in his green eyes.

"Stay with me, please." His voice was a little hoarse. "Or at least, stay until I fall asleep."

A strange warmth filled her then. She felt lightheaded, yet invigorated somehow, as if she could spring up on her tippy-toes and fly like a bird if she chose to do so. Pausing to catch her breath, she pulled her arm from his grip and then laid her hand in his outstretched palm. The feeling was nearly overwhelming now, as sweet as it was unfamiliar. His fingers closed around hers, gentle and strong, and then she must really be flying now.

But no, they were still in Meg's chambers, still bone tired, still hurting, and still grounded to the earth. They weren't flying, but it was close.

Careful not to disentangle their connected fingers, she crawled back under the covers and pressed herself against his side. He was warmer than she thought he would be.

"Thank you," she whispered. That warm feeling was in her toes, in her fingertips. She felt like spinning in a circle like a young girl would. She felt like she had to scream to express how she felt right now: ridiculously happy and yet, strange at the same time. It would have almost been scary if it hadn't felt so…  _right_. So natural.

Maybe it wasn't so strange.

His eyes were half lidded, but he gave her a drowsy smile.

"You're welcome."

* * *

* _Technically speaking, Athens fell to Sparta in 404 BC during the Peloponnesian Wars (431-404 BC), while Sparta declined in 371 BC… and I didn't realize that until chapter six._


	10. Capvt X: Beautiful Negligence

Capvt X:Beautiful Negligence

**Annabeth**  
_Spring, X176 BC_

* * *

 

The door opened slowly with a loud creak, as if the person behind it was trying not to let the noise be too loud. Annabeth's head jerked up from the mug of black, bitter substance Meg gave her, and she tried to see through the door. She cleared her throat.

"Who's there?"

"Just me, Annabeth."

She felt her body slump when she recognized Nico's familiar baritone, even though he had spoke barely louder than a whisper. The son of Hades swept into the room, closing the door behind him without a sound, as though determined to defy the laws of physics. Silent as always, he walked over to the only table in the room, his black cape flowing behind him like he was an overgrown bat. His face remained neutral as he sat down in front of her and, without presume, plucked the cup out of her hand and took a sip.

"You realize I was drinking out of that, right?" she asked, but she wasn't really angry. He had stolen so many drinks from her hands that it was almost a tradition now.

He quirked an eyebrow, "Since when has that stopped me?"

She shrugged.

"Come on outside," she lowered her voice a little, changing the subject. She wanted to look behind her shoulder to where Percy was asleep. "I don't want to wake him up."

His gaze drifted over her shoulder. She glanced down at the small vile of sleeping tonic in her hand and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, like a stone had been dropped in there. She shouldn't have drugged him like that, he would view it as a betrayal, but… well, she didn't want him to try to rescue the slave girl. Or do anything even more foolhardy. She didn't want him to get worse, the red welts on his back looked worse now than earlier that morning… or was it last night? It didn't matter; she just hoped his infection wouldn't get worse.

"You drugged him, didn't you?" Nico's tone was slightly incredulous, but not entirely surprised. She twitched her face to the left and shrugged again.

"I don't want him to do anything stupid."

"Like  _he'll_ be the one to do something stupid."

"Shut up, Death Breath."

"Of course, my lady." His tone didn't seem mocking, but she knew it was- she had known him since they were children. She narrowed her eyes. He pushed himself off the chair and offered an arm, but she knew he wasn't being chivalrous. She stood up and swept past him gracefully, tripping over the hem of her dark blue toga.

The door opened without a creak and no one pulled it, but she knew it was Nico. He had this ability to… manipulate objects, whether they were insubstantial like shadows (which they were, more often than not) or solids like doors. Apparently, everything had some kind of shadow inside of it, which was how he was able to do that stuff.

Did she believe him? Yes. Yes she did. What other explanation was there? He was a magician?

"Are we going to rescue that slave girl?"

"Yes."

"Not alone, I hope." A new voice spoke up, cool and commanding, but distinctly feminine. Annabeth whirled around, her skirts billowing out with her movement. She tensed automatically, waiting for the reprimand from one of the Caesar's—

It was the female praetor, though she couldn't remember what her name was. She was the woman who had been with Percy on that patrol when she first met him.

The dark haired woman walked forward gracefully and slowly, almost as if she were a leopard circling her prey. Annabeth glanced over the woman's shoulder and then off to the side— no escape there.

"Don't deny it." her voice was smooth as silk. She must know she had them cornered. "I heard you— both of you."

"Okay then, fine. We're planning on getting that girl out, because we know Octavius will have her executed."

The woman in front of her frowned, and there was some strange emotion in her eyes. She couldn't name it though; maybe it was anger or worry? "You know you'll be his first suspect— everyone saw you two arguing with each other, and then Percy was taken away…" She didn't mention the flogging. "In fact, I won't be surprised if he sends you to the stocks without hesitation, if you're lucky. Are you willing to risk the consequences?"

Annabeth bit into her bottom lip, it hurt a little, and she turned around so that her back was facing the praetor's. She crossed her arms over her chest and tucked her fingers in. She wasn't stupid, she was far from it, it didn't matter what people (and gods) say. So what if she didn't know how to read or write? She knew a little bit about strategy and diplomats from her father, and she did know a little history. That didn't make her stupid, most girls— most  _men_ — knew less. Just because she was a woman didn't make her stupid. She wanted to be educated, by the gods, she would do  _anything_ for an education, but she was never given the opportunity. It confused her to no end, why those boys hated being taught. They should be grateful for it.

She looked at the woman again, who's eyebrow arched up a little. Nico was leaning against one of the pillars, his arms folded and ankles lying crossed neatly, his right resting over his left.

"It… is the right thing to do." She paused, trying to figure out how to phrase her thoughts. "I know you think that I may not be rationalizing things through, but I am. That girl… she never did anything bad, or wrong, or evil. She's only a victim of circumstance."

The woman pressed her lips together into a thin line. "And if she dies anyway, and you are caught in the crossfire?"

She swallowed then lump in her throat back. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. "Then that will be my problem."

The woman nodded. "I will help."

* * *

 

"Where is the slave girl?" Reyna (as she had introduced herself) demanded, storming into the dungeons. Her purple cloak billowed out behind her, and her gold armor flashed in the dim light. That, combined with the way her dark eyes flashed and her jaw was set in a hard line made her a terrifying sight.

Annabeth followed behind her more carefully, seeing as she technically shouldn't be there. Her gaze fell on the man, who looked a tiny bit like a rat. His teeth were rather large and his nose was turned up… and he was shaking and holding his hands over his mouth, making claw-like motions with them as he chewed on his fingernails.

"P-praetor!"

"Now!"

Between the mess of stuttering and Reyna's yelling before she punched him in the gut, Annabeth managed to deduce that the slave girl had already been taken to the execution block with only a private trial.

* * *

 

_"You realize you'll get in trouble for that, later, right?"_

_"And I'll deal with that when the time comes. I've got a few trusted allies that can help us…"_

_"Me too."_

_"Before the noon bell?"_

_"Her execution is scheduled for the noon bell."_

_"See? Before the noon bell!"_

* * *

 

_"Annabeth? Nico? What are you doing here?"_

_"We— I need your help, Luke."_

_"What?"_

_"The slave girl— she's going to be executed by the noon bell."_

_"And you want to do a breakout. And you need my help and my super awesome powers to break in."_

_"Don't get cocky, Luke."_

_"Alright, alright. You know, I change my mind about you marrying this Heir Apparent: he's a good influence on you."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"Oh, you'll find out eventually~."_

_"Ignore him, Annabeth. He's trying to make you angry again."_

_"Yeah, I figured that, Nico. Where is Thalia? And Piper?"_

* * *

 

They met up with Reyna quicker than they had planned, after they found Piper and Thalia, of course. Annabeth had debriefed them (and Luke) about their situation, and then had told them to come down at the eleventh bell.

However, Reyna had gotten there before them— and she had Jason with her, the other praetor.

Annabeth slowed down a little as she observed the praetors' demeanor. Their bodies were tense and Reyna's eyebrows had furrowed while Jason paced and ran a hand through his hair. They didn't only look nervous, they were worried too.

"There you are." Reyna's relief was palpable, even though Annabeth only met her that morning. "I was only able to get Jason— Hazel and Frank are being watched by the Caesar's lackeys. She spoke up during the Senate and I don't want them to lose their jobs… or worse."

She nodded, even though she had no idea who this 'Frank' or 'Hazel' were. She was beginning to hate Percy's father- he seemed to be crueler than her own father. She knew she and him, King Fredrick, her father, didn't have the best relationship, but she knew he wouldn't have her flogged for speaking out or defending someone.

"I understand." She counted quickly in her head, like how Luke taught her how to do long ago. "There'll be seven of us once Luke, Thalia and Piper get here." Jason's eyebrows furrowed slightly at Piper's name, but Reyna nodded.

"We need a game plan." Nico mentioned, and she jumped a little. He had been so silent she had nearly forgotten he was there, even though she counted him in her mental count.

She shook her head mentally and pressed her lips together. "Thalia has a fear of heights, so she'll need to stay on the ground. Luke has a way with locks, and Piper is a charmspeaker—"

"Wait, what do you mean?" Reyna asked, her eyes suddenly sharp and clear, and Annabeth realized her mistake too late. She had just given them a tipoff they were something more than merely mortals.

She turned to Nico. "Can we trust them?" she inquired, switching into Greek so that they wouldn't be able to understand her. Nico's gaze drifted over to the two praetors, but she kept her eyes on him.

He looked back at her and nodded. "They seem trustworthy."

"You sure?"

He looked like he was about to smile and lifted one shoulder. "When are we ever?"

She turned to Jason and Reyna, who looked more than a little bewildered by the sudden onslaught of Greek.

"We're demigods." She told them, there was no point in beating around the bush when time was of the essence. Reyna blinked, looking like she had just been clobbered over her head, and then her expression cleared.

"I see… who are your parents?"

She looked at Nico, who shrugged. "I can't see the harm in telling them; they already know we're demigods and she'll probably work it out eventually."

Reyna arched an eyebrow at Nico's words, or at least, she had lifted it a little when Annabeth looked back at her.

She said, "Piper is a daughter of Aphrodite, Luke is a son of Hermes, Nico is a son of Hades, Thalia is a daughter of Zeus—"

Jason's eyes went as round as saucers. "Wait, that means I've got a half-sister!"

"You're a demigod!?" Nico asked, actually looking surprised for once instead of his normally passive expression. He stared at Jason like he had just grown two heads, just like the hydras she had heard from in legends. Annabeth covered a smile with her hand.

"Jason! You  _know_ how the Caesar is about demigods!" Reyna hissed in sync with Nico. They went silent for a long moment, Reyna peering over her shoulder like she was expecting someone to yell _demigods!_ but nothing happened.

"What do you mean?" she asked, when Reyna looked back at them. Reyna sent a nasty look at Jason before she answered the question.

"I believe Octavius Caesar is afraid of demigods; that he thinks they will try to overthrow his perfect rule." The sarcasm was both clear and bitterer than the winter winds that used to burn Annabeth's face when she was young. "I don't know what he'd do if he found out if one of his praetors were a demigod, let alone both of them."

"You're a demigod too?"

She nodded. "My mater is Bellona." She paused and then looked at them a little more carefully. "Are you a demigod? Percy said your eyes don't belong to a mortal."

The first thought she had was:  _of all things, it was my eyes to give away I'm more than a mere mortal?_ The second, slightly delayed, one was:  _wait, he noticed my eyes? What does that mean?_

"Yes," she admitted. "My mother is Athena."

Jason whistled lowly. "Whoa, don't let  _that_ get out. Romans and Minerva have some bad history, and then there's Percy with the possibility of being a son of either some water goddess or water god. Or maybe blessed by some water goddess or god, or a second or third generation"

"What?" she asked before she could stop herself. "What do you mean Percy could be a son of a water god or goddess? I thought he's fully mortal."

Jason and Reyna looked at each other, like they were having a silent conversation.

"He thinks he's fully mortal too." She began.

"But, there have been… instances." Jason finished, a strange expression crossing his face. He looked like he was about to be sick but at the same time he looked ready to jump up and start singing "Three Old Sailors Got Drunk in a Pub". "Percy's mater, Sally, she was originally from Sparta—"

"Wait, so he's half Greek?"

Reyna's lips thinned and her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. Annabeth was beginning to feel a little sorry for Jason, but he seemed to oblivious to the death stares his female counterpart gave him. Maybe he was used to her being close to attempt murder.

"Don't tell him that though; his mater died when he was seven while she was crossing the Mare Nostrum, and he has that strange abhorrence for Neptune."

"He hates Poseidon?" Nico asked from behind her, and she jumped a little. He had been so quiet she had forgotten he was even there. "Why would he hate Poseidon? I mean, Uncle P is one of the fairer gods."

This time Jason looked a little reluctant. Reyna's eyes flashed over to Nico, pinning him under that piercing stare she had. It made Annabeth feel vulnerable, her stare, like it could strip her bare and read each and every one of her secrets.

"You speak like you are family," she observed. Nico's lips quirked a little. "You act like you know him." The tiny smile slipped off his face and he looked at Annabeth without moving his head, like he was asking permission.

She nodded.

"I do," the admission slipped from his lips carefully, like he was testing their reactions. Reyna only stiffened, while Jason's eyebrow shot up in an eerie imitation of Reyna. Maybe it was an imitation of Reyna. "I'm… Pluto's ambassador, of sorts."

Reyna's eyes went wide, and Annabeth wondered if it was because of the admission or if—

"Shh!" Reyna hissed, "Act normal!"

"What? Why?" she asked before she could stop herself, and Reyna let out a soft giggle and wrapped her arm around Jason's.

Jason and Nico both looked disturbed.

"Oh, silly!" she said in a slightly higher tone than usual, but it somehow kept that down-to-earth quality in it. "You've got to have at  _least_ three drinks before you can relax fully. Right darling?" her eyes turned on Jason, who smiled a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"Reyna, you're more than a little tipsy, again. I think we need to get you to your villa."

Reyna batted her eyes and leaned against him, her fingers sliding up his arm. " _Oh_ , I see where you're going with this."

Annabeth didn't even bat an eye, she was growing used to the incestuous talk around this place. Nico, however, turned gray and then a little green.

And then Nico  _looked_ at her.

"Whatever you're thinking, I didn't do it." She said automatically, then she looked over his shoulder. A pair of guards disappeared around the bend.

"Okay, they're gone now." Jason muttered, and Reyna straightened her posture. He glanced down at her and raised an eyebrow. "Really though, was that the best excuse you had?"

" _'I think we need to get you to your villa_ ,'" she mimicked his earlier words, but with a sultry and higher tone of voice. Jason's ears turned a little pink.

"I was just reacting, okay? And besides,  _you_ were the one who—"

"I had to keep in character—"

"Oh yeah, that's definitely you when you're drunk, and then  _somehow_ we get into  _my_ villa and—"

She slapped a hand over his mouth, it looked like it hurt, and glanced at her and Nico with a sheepish expression on her face. Annabeth resisted the urge to gag, and only grimaced. Poor Nico had turned himself into a shadow, probably to hide the fact that he was either puking his guts out or doing something else. Like sanitizing his ears.

"I'm pretty sure Annabeth, and Nico, don't want to hear about what we do in our free time, Jason. Honestly, how you're a praetor is beyond me…" she shook her head. He pulled away from her hand and grinned.

"Yeah, but I'm not the one who does the talking during the Senate meetings: you are."

Reyna returned the grin briefly, before she turned to face Annabeth again. She wondered if it was possible to melt into a puddle made out of water and blood; she certainly felt warm enough.

"Sorry, I keep forgetting you're not from Roma."

She waved her hand dismissively. "That's a good thing then; I fit in. Anyway, they should be arrive in a few—"

There was the sound of feet pounding against the ground, and heavy breathing. She looked up and saw an average height, black haired woman clutching her stomach and using the wall to keep her balance.

"-Minutes." she finished.

"S-sorry," she gasped. "G-guards."

Nico materialized out of the shadows, a grin on his face. "You mean you were just busy with Luke."

She stuck her middle finger up at him, and straightened, clutching her side with one hand.

"Shut up, Death Breath," she took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm not that irresponsible," she paused and took a few more deep breaths. "And, I haven't seen him since this morning."

"That's just disgusting, Thalia." Nico muttered, screwing his face up. Jason's expression brightened from confusion while Reyna looked like she was about to groan for some reason.

Thalia cuffed him on the back of his head. "We're married, Nico. What do you expect?"

"A little more modesty?"

"Enough," Annabeth interrupted before they could get into a full on feud complete with lightning and earthquakes. Jason suddenly tackled Thalia in a hug, and Reyna rolled her eyes like this had happened too many times for her to be bothered about it. Nico looked like he was trying not to smile.

Luke appeared from around a corner, and he stared as Jason and Thalia battled it out in a full-out toggle/hug war, even though they were supposed to be serious right now... Or whatever they were doing— it kind of looked like he was trying to choke her.

He looked up at Annabeth. "Why do I get the feeling she wasn't in agreement with this treatment?"

"Oh, she wasn't," Nico looked  _way_ too gleeful over this. Annabeth raised her eyes to the ceiling for less than a heartbeat before she met his gaze again. Luke glanced at the two siblings before he shrugged, like he didn't want to know what they were arguing over.

"LET GO OF ME, I'M NOT IN ANY WAY RELATED TO YOU!"

"YES YOU ARE! WE HAVE THE SAME PATER!"

Thalia froze, and Jason took advantage of the fact by wrapping his arms around her neck and attempting to throttle her. Annabeth stepped away from the siblings. It wouldn't take too long for her to figure out who had let slip they were demigods, since Nico wasn't as talkative as she was… and Thalia had been the one to lecture all of them on not telling anyone they were demigods. Something she seemed to think Annabeth needed, since she did it  _twice_  just for her.

You don't know how scary Thalia was when she got out on a roll. Her eyes were like lightning, and storm clouds literally swirled around her as she bent over you despite the fact she was tinier than most people.

" _Annabeth_?" Thalia's tone was a mixture of sweet and angry as her bright eyes snapped on her. Annabeth held her breath, she was about to blow up in three, two—

"Did you  _tell_ them?"

—one.

"About that… it just, kind of, slipped?" she laughed nervously when her eyes narrowed.

"Let me get this straight, they—" Thalia pointed at Jason, then at Reyna, "—know about our lineage? Yours too?"

Annabeth would have replied to that, she really would, but there was the sound of footsteps pattering against the ground of the hallway. She glanced over her shoulder where Piper was bent double, clutching her stomach.

The bell began the half hour ring.

"What's the plan?" the daughter of Aphrodite asked, looking up at Annabeth, probably expecting her to assume the role of the leader.

She glanced at Reyna, who nodded, a neutral expression settling on her face.

Annabeth switched her gaze back at the others, all of whom were looking at her. Her hands suddenly felt clammy and her mouth went dry, but she tried to ignore those. She was just nervous. That was all- she could easily ignore being nervous. It didn't matter that she had six people looking at her, expecting a plan to bust a slave out of a high security cell.

"This is our plan…"

* * *

 

 _"Nico, Luke, you're with me, since I'm going up to that girl to get her and I need your shadow traveling abilities. You, Luke, I need your lock picking abilities in case she's chained to the post. We're going to have to split up at first though, Nico, I need you to keep an eye out for trouble just in case. Luke... please,_  please _don't pick-pocket anyone."_

Seven people rushed to where they belonged in the crowds.

_"Jason, Piper— you two together. Piper, since you can charmspeak, if anything goes wrong you can smooth things over, and if worst comes to worst then Jason'll be able to fly you out of there. I want you two to go to where she is going to be executed._

_"Thalia, Reyna… just blend in the crowds and act as our lookout."_

* * *

 

Annabeth chewed on her bottom lip and pressed herself against the walls as the people parted around her, making way for the Caesar and his imperial guard. She hoped he wouldn't recognize her— or Nico, or Luke, for that matter. That was the last thing they needed. Octavius would realize something was up the moment he saw her not with Percy.

Something clenched inside of her and her palms suddenly felt sweaty. Gods, what would happen to Percy if he  _did_  catch her? The last time she had done something reckless, he had been the one to pay the price. What if he would have to pay it a second time? The Caesar didn't seem like someone who forgave and forgot easily— and she had a feeling he didn't give second chances either.

But this wasn't like last time… she had spoken out impulsively, without a plan. This time, while it was reckless, at least she had a plan.

There was a difference. And hopefully, if there were consequences, Percy won't be on the receiving end of them. Or anyone else for that matter.

Her shadow suddenly became long, even though the sun was set at it's highest point, and she tightened her hold on the dagger. She had no idea why she was keeping the bloody thing; she had no idea how to use it really. What had happened with that guard was just a fluke. A very luky fluke, granted, but a fluke all the same.

A pale hand, paler than death itself, popped out of her shadow. Annabeth knew who it was, she had told him to keep an eye out for trouble after all. The shadow twisted and churned, like the sea on a rough day (she should know what it looked like- she had been at sea for six months), then his left arm appeared, and then his other arm and head. He let out a small grunt and his fingers closed in on the pavement not covered by her shadow, and he hauled himself up. Part of his body hung over, like he was in a lake, and the shadow was the water while the ground was the ledge.

"You realize one day someone's going to notice that, right?" She asked.

Nico's head jerked up and his whole body went rigid, almost like he was surprised when she spoke, and she held his gaze for a moment. He shrugged, not smiling and picked at his fingernails.

"I doubt it. You'd be surprised by what people would believe if supernatural happened just to make things fit to their own version of reality."

She held her hand out, and he took it. Annabeth had no idea what he talked about when he said stuff like that, she didn't really understand it, but maybe she would one day.

"Anything interesting?" she inquired, pulling him to his feet.

He pressed his lips together into a tight line and his eyebrows furrowed together into a frown. A strange expression crossed his face, almost like he was baffled or worried. Maybe he was both.

"I don't know," he said slowly, enunciating every word carefully. "I couldn't Shadow Travel through her shadow. It's almost like…" he trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind, that's impossible. All living things have a shadow. I probably was just tired."

She nodded, sort of understanding what he was trying to tell her.

"Come on then. Luke's over there and we need to get to her." She resisted the urge to glance at Octavius, who was walking up to the dais overlooking the executioner's block and waving toward the crowd, which was stomping their feet on the ground and calling out for her blood just between the pauses. "We've got half a bell ring, at most."

She thought of Leo, a son of Hephaestus. Leo was a genius, utterly mad, maybe, but a genius. He pretended to act reckless, and he joked around a lot, but she knew it was all a front. He thought things through, unlike Thalia and Luke and Piper and… her. He was far from reckless, and that made him one of the most abnormal Greeks she had ever met.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Leo," she answered. "He'd probably have rescued Bianca by now, or at the very least, have a more solid plan. Maybe one day he and Percy would meet."

Nico hummed. "Maybe they will. You're going back to Greece in every second Autumn, right?"

She thought back to one of the last conversations she had had with her father.

_"Only during every other Autumn? But what if I hate it there!"_

_"That is not my problem. Learn to like it."_

_"B-but— father— are you sure? It's nearly a full moon to get from here to there. Do you_ want  _me to be so far from you?"_

_"Enough, Annabeth. I have been too lenient in allowing you this long to go unmarried— you have grown wild. Soon enough, you will be your new husband's property and his headache."_

She grimaced as she remembered what happened after that—her yelling at him she was no one's property, and that the Athenian governors were brainwashing him. It was probably her fault they had drifted apart so much, but she couldn't do anything about it anymore. It was too late to fix things between them.

"Yeah," she said softly.

She missed her old friends, and she missed Greece, but… something inside of her didn't like the idea of leaving Rome. It didn't make any sense; the violence was horrible, and she had a nasty feeling she had only seen the beginning of it, but there was just something about it she just couldn't place her finger on. She had new friends here, she no longer felt like she was being choked by a leash despite her heavier responsibilities, and there was Percy.

Yeah, there was definitely Percy. He… was complex, last night had proven that; she wanted to understand him. She didn't even know why anymore; she felt like it went beyond him being her husband. She just really wanted to understand him. Why he was this way, how he became this way, try to understand why he was determined to forgive Octavius for everything he's done wrong, even though logic clearly stated that the Caesar was corrupt behind redemption.

"Annabeth?"

She jerked her head up. Nico was ahead of her by a few paces, and he was looking at her with a strange expression on his face. She must have stopped walking.

"Yeah, sorry. I'm coming."

He shook his head. "No, not that. I just want to say that your plan is good for something you came up with on the spot."

A warm feeling filled her then and she quickened her pace until she was standing next to him. She was lucky she had such a good friend.

"Thanks," she said, and smiled.

His cheeks turned a little pink and he rubbed the back of his neck, then turned away to avoid meeting her eyes.

* * *

 

Reyna somehow ended up walking next to her and Nico. Annabeth had no idea how it happened. One moment, Luke was walking next to her —silently— and then the next, Reyna was just  _there_. She hadn't even heard the praetor walk up, or Luke walk away! It was like Reyna had popped up like a ghost.

So, naturally, she had to stifle a shriek. She probably  _would_  have shrieked if they weren't on a mission to rescue someone's life.

Reyna looked like she was struggling not to smile.

"You and Jason, huh?" Annabeth asked, attempting to diverge from the subject. Reyna's face turned impassive.

"I guess."

There was something strange about Reyna's tone. It was tense, but there was a mixture of something else Annabeth couldn't quite place. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"What do you mean guess?" She turned to look at her, but Reyna kept her eyes fixed on a spot up ahead.

"It's complicated. Then again, it's  _always_ complicated when you love someone." Her tone was bitter, and Annabeth couldn't help but feel sorry for her. Maybe her 'happy relationship' with Jason was just for show. Maybe she didn't really love him… or maybe she did, and he didn't return the feelings. But it seemed like both of them were completely heads over heels.

"You're lucky, you know?" Reyna's voice was suddenly soft. Annabeth couldn't help but look at her. "You love Percy, and I think he loves you back, even though you just met."

"What?" she was pretty sure she had misheard Reyna. There was no way she loved Percy, maybe she liked him, as a friend, but loved? That was pushing it. She barely knew him. There was no way she could love someone she just met— it just didn't make sense.

Reyna smiled slightly, looking slightly happier. "You'll see eventually."

Annabeth was just about to ask just what she mean by that, when the crowd suddenly began muttering. The bells began to chime, and she felt like someone had just dumped a bucket of icy water over her.

They were too late.

"No…" Reyna murmured next to her, stopping as well.

The slave girl was being dragged up to the hanging block, her hands tied in front of her and her hair falling everywhere. One of the guards spat at her, and another said something which made her flinch away. A third placed his hand on her shoulder and steered her up, his grip making the ratty clothes made of towels bend.

The people had split apart like a stream did to rocks, leaving her in full view of the Caesar, so even if they tried to save her, they would be caught. And Annabeth knew it would be like this for the rest of the way— the men would humiliate and beat the girl, and the crowds would part like the sea. They would just stand there and watch.

It made her feel sick.

"No!" Nico suddenly lunged forward, his voice suddenly much shriller then she remembered it ever being. "No! No!"

She exchanged a swift glance with Reyna then, as one, surged forward and wrapped her arms around the his wiry, flailing frame.

"Bianca!" He screamed, "Bianca!"

"Nico!" Annabeth gasped when his elbow made contact with her stomach. "What in Hades is wrong with you?!"

The slave girl's head whipped around at the name, and her eyes somehow met Nico's. He stopped attempting to wrench her shoulders out of their sockets, and he seemed to be trying to say something to her, but the girl only shook her head sadly. A nasty suspicion was forming inside of her head.

Nico had had a sister. He had been Spartan, and he had been a slave, before her father stepped in. He had been bought because he was a man, and a son of Hades. But his sister was a woman. He still was a slave, technically.

"Bianca!" he pressed his hand against the arm Reyna was holding against his chest, restraining him. "Bianca…"

And then the slave girl, Bianca, smiled sadly and met Annabeth's eyes. She shook her head slightly, and then one of the guards pushed her.

"Move, wrench," he said. She tried to bite him, but he pulled away just before she did.

She tossed her head back and her long, dark hair swayed down her back. In that moment, she resembled one of the ladies in her father's court- tall, graceful and beautiful, but slightly detached and unapproachable.

Annabeth felt like she was about to begin choking, and she shoved her way out of the crowd.

* * *

 

"Please, we've got to save her. There's got to be a way to save her."

Nico was pacing in dizzying circles. Annabeth felt horrible. She want to scream, she wanted to punch something, she wanted to march right on out there... she wanted to cry.

And yet she was doing nothing. There was nothing that could be done now. She was gone, just like that. Hanged.

He looked at her pleadingly.

"Annabeth? There's got to be a way."

She shook her head. "There could have been a chance to create a diversion, but the Caesar would know who made it and the consequences—"

"Damn the consequences!" Nico's voice was fierce, interrupting her. A lump rose in her throat and she pressed the back of her hand against her eyes. There was nothing she could do now; the slave girl was dead. "Annabeth; what's gotten into you? It isn't like you to hesitate. This is my  _sister_ we're talking about— there's nothing worse than—"

"Nico!" she raised her voice. He stumbled back, like he had been physically pushed, and she reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. "Nico, she's gone. Your sister is dead."

He stepped away from her, shaking his head. His mouth was moving, but he wasn't saying anything. The look on his face was enough to express the accusations he wanted to throw at her.

Something inside of her seemed to pull when she saw the tears in his eyes.

"What's happening to you?" he finally whispered. "You're becoming someone I don't know."

He spun on his heel and disappeared into the shadows.

Luke moved forward, and she looked down at the ground.

"I'm sorry Luke," her voice broke a little. "I tried." She clenched her fists.

And then he spun on his heel and walked away.

As soon as he was out of her sight, she crumbled to the ground and felt a choking sensation rise inside of her. She felt like she was going to suffocate. Not only that, but she may have just lost two friends and maybe Nico was right— maybe she was changing too much. This wasn't her. It couldn't be. What happened to her? Was she turning heartless? How could she choose to do  _nothing_ while another human being was being march to their imminant death?

She wanted to claw her insides out and tear them into a thousand tiny pieces. Why was she the one who had to choose this? She knew people say it's better to have the freedom of your own choice then having someone choose for you, but no freedom was worth being the one to have to make that choice. There had been a chance to save that girl if she had decided to just damn the consequences. She was a hypocrite; she had let someone die, and had essentially done nothing. She had just told Percy that you had to damn the consequences and do what's right, but then she had turned her back on that and now an innocent girl was  _dead_...

What was  _wrong_  with her?

A scream escaped her lips as the tears finally began to fall out of her eyes.

* * *

 

Later on, Annabeth somehow found her way to Meg's chambers. She didn't remember how, or when she started moving. It was all so surreal. It didn't even feel real— she probably would have thought this was a dream, but it wasn't. She dreamed in black and white. There weren't any gray areas; everything was defined. And this wasn't defined. Everything felt wrong now, twisted and distorted beyond belief. No colors anymore, just gray. There was nothing beautiful left.

"Percy?" she whispered, walking over to where he slept. His chest wasn't moving up and down, and she her breathing suddenly picked up. He  _couldn't_ be dead, if he was dead then she probably  _would_ try to kill someone, or march down and punch Thantos in his face.

Tears began to form in her eyes again and she stepped forward, reaching out tentatively. She placed her hand on his arm. It felt warm. Then his chest shuddered.

She couldn't begin to describe the relief she felt in that moment that rushed over it in a tidal wave. It left her knees weak and her body tingling and now she really  _was_ crying again. Her hand shook as she sat down next to him, then she moved it up until it was resting against his chest. She pulled her legs up and hugged them with her free arm, just looking at him.

He looked peaceful in his sleep, like a child almost. His forehead was smooth from frown marks and his eyes were closed, but he didn't smile or frown.

She placed her head on top of her knees, closed her eyes, and wrapped her other arm around her legs. She tried to make herself as small as possible, so that maybe she would be protected from this cruel world known as reality.

She had lost at least two friends today. Thalia was ignoring her, and Piper's replies were clipped and short. Nico probably hated her right now, and he didn't forgive mistakes easily, which meant it was doubtful he ever really  _would_ forgive her. She hadn't seen Luke in hours.

What would everyone back in Greece think of her right now?

"Guess there's a consequence for every action I take." She muttered. A laugh began to bubble at her lips, and she saw no reason in keeping it in. "Try to save the slave girl, and endanger you. Try to keep you safe and lose your friends. I don't understand why."

She raised her head and looked out of the window. The moon was out, and the stars shone in the sky. They reminded her of the diamond she saw once when she was little; sparkling and mysterious.

"Why did I have to choose this?" she asked quietly, and ran her hand across her face. She felt hallow now "Why was it me?" She looked at his face and almost smiled. He looked so different when he was asleep. Moonbeams shone down on him, and it was clear of his usual scowl or smirk. He looked relaxed.

She bit her bottom lip and suddenly lifted the sheets on the bed. She felt undeniably nervous, and she thought of the guard's leering gaze before she pushed it into the back of her mind. She was not going to be scared of Percy; he was defenseless.

She shifted herself until she was under the sheets too and moved until there was no air against them. Her body began to relax and she closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his chest. She doubted he would even realize it, and if he did, she'd make him forget somehow.

At least she was safe right now. No more questions; no more choices. At least he wouldn't judge her right now... he couldn't. She knew he'd probably hear about it eventually, but for now, she was safe.

What an odd word, "safe". She didn't even know the meaning of it anymore. It had been so long since she had actually felt safe.

Maybe it was what she deserved. Maybe she was a bad person after all. How on earth was she lucky enough to get Percy as her husband again? She certainly didn't deserve him…

"I'm sorry, Percy." She whispered as she fell asleep, even though she knew he wouldn't hear it.


	11. Capvt XI: Crossing the Threshold

Capvt XI: Crossing the Threshold

**Annabeth**   
_Spring, x176 BC_

* * *

 

“Annabeth?”

Annabeth looked over her shoulder and met Piper’s multi-colored gaze. Unconsciously, she sat up straighter, unsure as to whether or not her best friend would blame her as well. She still didn’t understand exactly what she had done to cause the others to ignore her . . . other than letting Bianca die.

A pang of guilt made her stomach clench and she wrung her hands together. Nico, she understood. The others, however, she did not. Why didn’t they rescue Bianca themselves? She knew they could if they wanted to badly enough.

“What is it, Piper?”

“I just wanted to say “thank you.’”

She stared. Of all the things she could say, that was the least likely. “What? Why would you thank me?”

“You stopped Nico and the others from doing something stupid. If they had gone through with their foolhardy plan, the Caesar would have punished them.” Piper sat on the edge of the bed, by Percy’s feet. Their gazes fell on his pale, drawn face. “Perhaps worse than he punished Lord Perseus. How is he?”

“Not getting better,” she answered. “He woke up that night, but hasn’t since. He’s running a fever, but Meg said that’s normal. Something about fighting infection.”

“I’m sorry we caused you to choose like that.”

Annabeth shrugged. “What I don’t understand is why everyone has alienated me. Well, Nico, I do. But not Luke or Thalia.”

Piper’s eyes caught hers, and they seemed to cut into her like a knife. “Really?” She shook her head. “Sometimes, you can be absolutely brilliant one moment, Annabeth . . . and then the next your naivety astounds me.” Before she could ask what  _that_ meant, Piper went on. “Luke’s not use to taking orders from a woman, especially you, and Thalia is used to tradition. Two sunrises ago, you took charge like an emperor would, or a general; and in that moment, you weren’t Greek, but you weren’t Roman either.  Don’t worry, they’ll come around eventually. All of them.”

Annabeth stared at her hands. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How come you’re not . . . I don’t know,  _scared_  or something?”

She risked a peak at Piper’s face, which had split into a wide smile. “Because I know  _you_. You’ve never been one to stick to the rules; bend them, yes, but never adhere to them. You’re not a regular mortal; you’re a child of Athena. That’s why I’m not scared of you, or even surprised.”

She smiled a little. “Thanks, Piper.”

Evidentially satisfied that their conversation was complete, Piper stood and placed the tray of food —porridge, was it?— on the table.

“Eat some food and get some rest, Annabeth. His condition is stable and he’s not going to recover overnight.”

* * *

“Annabeth?”

A light hand touched her shoulder, rousing her from her state of fitful rest. The woman praetor, who she didn’t recognize for a moment as Reyna, stood in front of her with a concerned expression etched so deeply into her face that it physically made her chest tighten.

“What?” She frowned; her voice was raspy for some reason. Reyna grabbed the pitcher of water and poured the clear liquid into a glass, which Annabeth took gratefully. There was a  _horrible_ pounding in her temples, and her body ached.

“You’re burning up, Annabeth. You shouldn’t be here if you’re this sick.”

“Percy . . .” she began, and Reyna’s lips twitched.

“Don’t worry about him. Jason and I’ll keep vigil over him while you get better.”

Now that she realized it, she felt hot, and yet goosebumps had broken out all over her arms. She was shivering too, and her throat felt like it was on fire. Reyna leaned forward and took her elbow, gently guiding her somewhere.

But she had to stay with Percy. She needed to be close to him, if only for her own peace of mind. There was a horrible, churning feeling in her stomach . . .

“Not alone. Stay.”

Reyna’s expression seemed to soften a little and she nodded. “Fine.” And she guided her out the door and pushed her down on something soft. Annabeth protested; she had to stay with him, she had to make sure he was safe. It was her fault he was in this mess, her fault and the Caesar’s. Everything was her fault.

“Don’t worry, Annabeth. Just rest.”

Too tired to say anything else, she let out a sigh and relaxed into the softness.

“Wake me . . .” she mumbled.

“I’ll wake you if anything drastic happens.” Reyna’s voice was disjointed, but oddly soothing. And she let go.

* * *

Annabeth dreamt of Helen and her father, but when she woke, their faces were blurred and she couldn’t remember the words behind their harsh, angry voices. She stood and walked into the opening covered by drapes into Percy’s—hers— _their_ chambers. She simply watched the steady rise and fall of his chest and his heavy breathing, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders slowly ebb away. She was alone, as far as she could tell, and she found herself walking over to his side.

_Up . . . down . . . up . . . down . . . alive, alive, alive, alivealivealive, safe, safe, safe, safe safe safe safesafesafe_. . . She rested her hand on his chest, feeling his odd warmth seep through the thin covers. She wondered if he had a fever . . . but no, she was pretty sure he had been this warm that first night they met, with the Cyclops. Who was watching him?

She poured herself a glass of water and took a deep gulp, unable to stifle a soft moan of relief as it soothed the back of her throat and seemed to cool her overheated body. Maybe she was the one who was running a fever. Her hands were shaking.

She looked back at him— _safe, safe, safe, safesafe **safe** —_how did he not blame her? She should have watched her tongue better, keep it in check. Seventeen years of living under the harsh conditions of Athenian-Roman life, and still she couldn’t watch her words.

“ _Words are a weapon as sharp and double edged as a sword. Use them well, Annabeth.”_ Her stepmother, Helen’s, voice bounced and echoed inside her skull, leaving a ringing sound behind it.  _Your fault, your fault, your fault your fault yourfaultyourfault **yourfault**_. Her fault Bianca died—was murdered. Her fault Luke and Thalia alienated her. Her fault Nico hated her. Why couldn’t she be content with being  _normal_?  Why couldn’t she be like those other ladies? Why couldn’t she be content with not having an education? Why did that guard attempt to . . . to . . .  _it, that—_ why did that guard try to  _hurt_ her? Was there something wrong with her? She’d never been normal . . .

 _Why me?_ She asked herself piteously.

 _Why not?_ Her subconscious responded mercilessly.  _Stop sulking, Annabeth! You’re a Champion of Olympus and a daughter of Athena!_

She flipped her hand over, so that her wrist was up, and stared at her currently bare skin.

 _“_ Revealio,” she said aloud.  _I reveal._ Like magic, almost, the small tattoo formed right there, under her palm and on top of her wrist. The medallion of laurels stood there, her death sentence, laughing at her.

_“. . . Many Champions die before it is their time . . . ”_

_“. . . destined for greatness . . .”_

_“. . . destined to be a hero . . .”_

She was only human: not a hero. She was only human; mortal. She didn’t want this. She couldn’t be this, what  _they—_ Athena, Zeus, Hera, the gods—wanted her to be. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want any type of expectation on her.

_“I expect great things from you, daughter.”_

Great expectations. She was almost sad she would never be able to live up to them.

_Help me. I need help. I can’t do this alone. Why is it me? Why? Help. Help me, please . . ._

~…~

“Annabeth?” A soft, hoarse voice woke her from her light slumber and she raised her head. Whose bed was this?  _Oh_ , right. Roma. Percy. Gladiators. Flogging. Bianca. Her eyes locked on slightly glazed over green— _deep, deep, green, fathomless, like the ocean—_ and she tried unsuccessfully to control a shiver. What was it about this man that was so  _different?_

“You’re awake.” She whispered.  _You’re okay,_ she meant. Percy’s lips twitched up, but he didn’t smile. “How are you feeling?” She sat up.

“Like I just went to Tartarus and back,” he murmured, keeping his voice low.  _No doubt._ He probably wasn’t exaggerating.

“Do you want something to eat? Drink?”

His eyes were half-lidded, like all his strength had been drained and he was rapidly approaching exhaustion.

“Water, please.” 

She poured a glass and lifted his head up, so he could sip at it. When he shook his head, she let his head fall back on the pillows. Immediately, he fell back asleep.

She smiled slightly and placed the glass on the table.

Improvement was improvement, after all.

~…~

 _Percy can be remarkably childish at times,_  Annabeth decided as she stared at her husband, propped up against many pillows, with his arms crossed and a petulant scowl on his face.

“You know Meg only wants what is best for you.” She reminded him, dropping the crochet into her lap. She pressed her hand against her skirt, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. But it doesn’t make it any better.” He grumbled. She dropped her gaze.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. Her insides flipped over. She hated this feeling, this  _guilt._ She’d never felt this before.

“It’s . . .” he paused, “It’ll be all all right.”

 _Your fault, your fault, your fault your fault yourfaultyourfaultyour **fault**_  . . .

* * *

 

She placed her hand against the scrolls in the library. The papyrus was rough and creviced, and dry.

 _Maybe._ She thought.  _But I doubt it._

* * *

 

_Hands pinning her down. Her clothes being ripped off._

“NO!” Annabeth woke with a jerk, her heart in her throat, her mouth dry. She took several deep breaths and roughly brushed the back of her hand against her cheek, trying to get rid of the stickiness. Fine. She was  _fine._

Wasn’t she? She was safe.

* * *

 

Annabeth watched Percy out of the corner of her eye as he walked around the chambers, his pace painfully slow and hesitating. It was obvious by the way he kept clenching his teeth that he was in pain, though he wouldn’t admit it.

* * *

“Nico?” She called out. Nico paused in his gait and looked over his shoulder. His eyes and face were unreadable. And that worried her more than anything else. “Are you ever going to forgive me?” she asked quietly, sadly. He turned his head . . . 

“I don’t know.”

. . . And walked away.

* * *

 

_“Silly girl. You do not realize I know what is best for you.”_

_“No . . .”_

_A sigh, almost as if she were sad. “One day, you will realize the truth in my statement. You will realize you’re meant to turn to us, the Protogenoi.”_

_“Stop . . .”_

_“Run away, if you must, silly girl. You and your hero complexes. But you will come to us, and you won’t be able to stop.”_

“NO!”

“Annabeth!”

Percy didn’t have time to pull away from her. Annabeth latched onto the first warm thing that was in her general vicinity, her shoulders shaking as the remains of the night terror bounced in her skull, the woman’s words repeating like a  _horrid_ mantra of doom and misery.

“I won’t, I won’t, I won’t join them . . . I’m not . . . get  _out of my head_.”

A hand lightly touched her shoulder, and she shook her head. “Annabeth, you’re fine. It was just a bad dream. You’re  _fine_.”

She pulled away from him, ignoring the strange urge to wrap her arms around his torso again, and shook her head. “No, it’s not a bad dream. It . . . that was far too real. It felt just like that time when I dreamt of you . . . years ago, before we met. It’s real.”

“What? You too?”

She nodded. His eyes fell back out to the window and he crossed his arms over his chest, like he was cold suddenly.

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it now. Just keep it in mind, that way you know about it in the future. It may give you,” he hesitated, “An edge.”

She nodded.

_An edge? What does that mean? Rome isn’t at war._

* * *

She hated feeling this way.  _Hated_ it. Hated looking over her shoulder every few seconds, hated feeling like someone was going to trap her . . .

It had to stop. This had to stop. She had to do something about this feeling, and trying to pretend it hadn’t happened was obviously not working. She had to do something, like learn how to defend herself . . .

 


	12. Capvt XII: Into the Dark

Capvt XII: Into the Dark

**Percy  
** _Spring, x176 BC_

* * *

For the first time in years, Percy dreamt of Rachel.

No, shut up— it wasn't like  _that_. It was actually one of those weird dreams, the ones when everything seemed to be right in front of you, and yet at same time everything was far away.

He had been having these dreams since he was a child, but he wasn't entirely sure if they even were dreams. He had dreamt of Rachel's death months before it even happened, and he used to dream of Annabeth when he had been a child, before his mater drowned.

He had forgotten about them, the dreams he used to have for over a year, until . . . well, the gladiators. Annabeth had been standing over him that night, and he had remembered them then. She had been in the same position as the Annabeth in one of his dreams. Her eyes had been worried and her face pale, and he had said the same thing both times.

_Stay with me, please._

He hadn't understood it when he was younger; he had just passed it off as a strange dream. It had been easy to think it was nothing too; after all, he had quite a lot of strange dreams. Still did, as a matter of fact . . .

Like this one.

He looked at the woman more carefully. She was walking into the white mist that was descending upon the clearing, coming from somewhere ahead of him. She had to be the woman who had been his best friend and fiancé. Her red hair was still that same shade that reminded him of fire, and her hips rolled in the same tantalizing way as she strutted away from him.

"Rachel?" he called out, his voice strangely hoarse. She looked over her shoulder, green eyes bright, and smiled at him. It was a sad sort of smile though, the one she gave him just before her head had fallen back.

That was when he began to run after her, his heart leaping into his throat. Was she still alive? Maybe this wasn't a dream. Maybe he could save her, unlike last time.

The dryads seemed to decide they had a personal vendetta against him. A branch scratched at his face when he ran past it, and roots seemed to pop out of the ground. He pushed them aside with his arms, trying to keep Rachel in sight as she kept gliding through the forest, her red hair swaying across her back.

Something sharp suddenly caught his back, and a scream tore its way out of his throat. He stumbled to the ground, instinctively reaching behind to touch his back; it seemed to  _throb._ Now, normally, it wouldn't have caused him so much pain, but it had caught him by surprise and the wounds he got from that flogging.

Something warm and thick welled up on his hands and he swore. They had reopened again.

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.  _In, out, in, out_ , he chanted to himself, trying to stop his heart from thumping so hard. He needed oxygen so that he could think clearly. His back was bleeding, which meant he had reopened the wounds he acquired from that flogging.

 _Which was Annabeth's fault,_ he thought, then pushed it away. It wasn't her fault. Well, it was, but he didn't blame her. He  _shouldn't_ blame her. She still felt horrible about it.

 _Okay_ , he told himself. The pain kept coming in waves, which was new sensation. Generally, it hurt immediately (like, a lot a lot) and then gradually eased up, or it was numb at first, then it began to hurt. The pain flared up, then went numb, then flared up again. It really,  _really_ hurt.

 _You're fine, Perseus,_ he scolded himself.  _Stop being a child and man up. Breathe in, breathe out . . ._

He opened his eyes after a few moments, only to greet darkness. No, really. The world all around him was covered in darkness.

The only simple way to explain it was that there was no light. The sun had been blotted out, as well as the moon and stars. Percy felt like he had been locked into a small, confined space that held no light again, like that time when he was younger and had been trying to teach himself to control his claustrophobia. There was just pitch darkness, and nothing else—no light, no gray areas, or white. Nothing.

"Honestly," a warm voice groaned, coming from somewhere above him. He glanced up and saw Rachel standing in a tunnel made out of white light. Her hair was like fiery glory, and it swayed across her face, but she kept trying to blow it out of her eyes. "Do I  _really_  need to hold your hand? Because we settled this when we were courting—we don't hold hands when we're around people."

He felt a grin tug at his lips, which surprised him a little. When he was younger, he used to laugh and smile a lot, but now the actions were almost alien. The only times he did laugh were usually because it was proper etiquette, even though the person hadn't said anything remotely funny.

"You don't need to hold my hand, Rach. Well, you're not trying to kill me, right? Because then you'll have to drag me after you, because I really don't feel like dying yet— I have a kingdom I have to rule and I'm pretty sure pater won't be happy. I've heard that when you see white light—"

She punched him in the shoulder. It didn't hurt, but he rubbed it just to be nice.

"Shut up. Just take my damn hand, or you'll never get out of the Shadow Lands."

It was then he realized his back didn't sting. He felt his breath hitch as he pulled his hand out in front of him, but there was none of that dark, sticky substance he hated so much. There was no blood.

When he glanced up, Rachel was still holding her hand out. She was being patient, which was a first— normally she hated waiting.

He took her hand quickly, intertwining his fingers between hers. She smiled at him, and his feet moved from underneath him. He felt like a strange, buzzing feeling begin deep inside his chest, and his face felt like it was about to crack in half. She led the way into the light, ahead of him by a few steps, as she always was. Eventually, it got so bright he had to squint. Her form began to disappear like fog had descended upon them, or she was flickering between life and death. He could have sworn the warmth of her hand disappeared a few times, except when the thought crossed his mind, it was there again.

"This way, Perseus," she murmured into his ear. He was being led into the dark, except instead of blackness, it was white light. His fingers closed around thin air.

He'd lost her. Again.

He shook his head and scolded himself mentally. She was right in front of him— she hadn't left him.

The tunnel suddenly widened, and when he blinked, the white mist had been replaced with a field of bright colors. As far as his eye could see, there were a million shades of yellows, blues, pinks, oranges, reds, whites, and browns and greens that bled and mixed together until the scene was burned into his eyes.

Wildflowers.

The sky was a deep blue color, and the breeze played with the edges of his toga. When he inhaled deeply, he could smell the sweet fragrance of the flowers. It was summertime, except it was a nice day for once— not terribly hot or humid.

He knew this scene—it was one of his favorite memories.

He heard laughter on the breeze, and two children appeared over the hills. The one in the lead had red hair, Rachel, but he—well, little him—was just behind her. Percy's breath hitched at the happiness on a smaller version of his face as little him tumbled to the ground and rolled down the hill. That had been him a long time ago. He had been happy.

Rachel bent double, wrapping her arms around her stomach and laughing breathlessly.

"I won!" she crowed. Little Percy frowned up at her.

"You cheated."

"Nuh-uh." She shook her head and stretched out on the grass by Little Percy's side. Her back faced the sky as she played with a flower that had a black center and the petals were the color of the sun. Percy crept closer to the children, trying to not to step on the wildflowers.

"Braid my hair with these flowers!" She commanded, sitting bolt upright. The small version of himself groaned and flipped over so that his face was in the ground.

"Not  _again_ , Rachel . . . seriously, when did you become such a  _girl_?"

Percy shook his head at himself and stifled a soft laugh. Rachel reached out and slugged him in the shoulder.

"That's because I  _am_ a girl, dummy!"

Small Percy lifted his face off the ground and stared at her like she had just grown two heads. Rachel lifted her chin and turned her nose up—her  _I'm superior than you are and you know it_ face.

"Do I  _have_ to?"

In answer to his inquiry, she hauled him up (she said she was a girl, but Percy was pretty sure she was superhuman) and handed him a thin leather strip. Small Percy raised his eyes to the sky, like he was asking  _why me?_ and lifted his hands. Rachel held a daisy over her shoulder and Small Percy plucked it out of her hand.

"So, what would you be if you weren't Heir Apparent?" she asked, wiggling her toes a little. "If I wasn't a peasant, I would be a princess! Or an artist."

Percy felt a lump form in his throat but he swallowed it back. Small Percy shrugged his shoulders, sticking his tongue out as he focused on entwining the three sections of her hair. Rachel kept picking wildflowers and handing them over to him.

"I'd probably be, um . . ."

"That's all? Um? I've never heard of ums before." Rachel's eyes crinkles a little, the way they do when she was smiling but trying not to smile. It had been something that had always irritated him, even after they had started courting.

"Hey! Stop laughing at me!" Small Percy waved his (current) freehand around. "I can always leave your braid half finished."

Rachel went stiff, and Small Percy nodded to himself with a satisfied expression etched deep into his face. Percy cringed inwardly, remembering her face. Gods, it had been awful.

"Don't. You. Dare." Her eyes turned into slits and she twisted around. Small Percy's eyes widened. "Do you understand?"

Small Percy nodded quickly, and Rachel went back to humming to himself and picking wildflowers.

"I think I'd like to do something with the ocean."

The scene froze at Small Percy's words. Rachel and Small Percy went as still as the great oak trees that towered above Percy when he went into the large grove outside of Roma. The wildflowers stopped rippling, making the sunlight stop bouncing all around the clearing in an almost ethereal light. Percy wasn't afraid though; he just stared at the sky above the hills and waited.

"This was a lifetime ago," Rachel commented. Her voice would have been casual if not for the sadness in it. When he turned, she looked like she was made of sunlight, yet he was pretty sure she was solid. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"We would have made beautiful babies," she sounded thoughtful. He choked on air, feeling the undeniable warmth in his ears. She had always been the one without tact in their relationship . . . and the proactive one too.

"Yeah, well, it's not going to happen now."

She sighed. "No, it's not. You're married to a different woman now, and I'm dead."

He tried to imagine it, Rachel and him. They would have been married for five cycles by now, with maybe a child or two. He could see them clearly: a girl with long red hair and his green eyes, and a boy with black hair and Rachel's nose and freckles. Rachel could have been with another child too. He would spoil his girl relentlessly, calling her Little Princess, while he played catch with his son. Rachel would yell at him for not setting out the blanket.

He stopped it before it could go too far, but it was already too late. The vision was etched into his mind's eye.

"I find it funny how you prioritize me being married to Annabeth over you being dead." He deadpanned, but he didn't really find it funny. He would have been happier with her. Rachel certainly wouldn't have spoken out like Annabeth had in the Caesar's presence.

(He really was no good at not holding a grudge against her, was he?)

"You need to let me go, Perseus." She murmured. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling like he wanted to punch something— and maybe scream about how unfair the world was.

"I know," he muttered. "Believe me, I know. It's not easy though."

She didn't respond. Percy frowned, wondering why she hadn't responded — _did something happen to her? —_  and he began to open his eyes.

"Rachel? Is there—" he choked when a cold feeling engulfed him. Darkness bled into the meadow, the source of it coming from Small Percy and Rachel's shadows. It descended like a tidal wave, quick and dangerous. Percy spun around, but the darkness was bleeding out from the trees as well. There was nowhere left to run. Even the sky was being blotted out with darkness, and he was  _sure_ that was not in his memory.

Then suddenly, it was upon him. Percy felt like someone had wrapped their hand around his mouth and was trying to make him suffocate. His lungs were burning, yet when he reached up, there were no hands holding him hostage—

He was underwater. It was green-blue all around him, and the ocean floor was visible*. When he looked up, he could see a bright spot.  _Sunlight_ , a part of him thought. His lungs were burning, his brain was fogging up, and he was pretty sure he was drowning.

 _Swim, you useless idiot!_ a voice which sounded suspiciously like Reyna's yelled at him.

 _I don't wanna swim,_ he argued with it.

 _Then I'll make you spar with me!_ Reyna's voice barked. He grimaced, training with Reyna was  _never_ fun, and he kicked his legs.

He pushed his arms out in front of him and then snapped them back to his sides, cutting through the motionless water. Water rushed between his ears (or was that blood?) and darkness was beginning to cloud his vision. He was  _so close_ to that sunlight now. He kicked his shoes off and reached up again, this time for the light. It was rippling, and it was all around him. He had hit the current now, too, and it was trying to tug him off to the side.

His hand broke through the water, and he pulled himself up. He took a deep, shuddering gasp of air, and it flooded his lungs. His mind felt dizzy, but alert. He wasn't dead. Always a good thing.

The sun and sea suddenly rippled and began to fade away. Percy felt the darkness around him, and he managed to take one last gulp of air before he sank under the dark waves. It was no longer blue-green under the water: it was black. It didn't feel right—it felt  _wrong_.

Suddenly, the darkness gave away to moonlight and he was standing in the middle of the deserted streets of Roma. He knew that without even looking at his surroundings properly—this was his city, his country, his kingdom. He had walked through these streets so often that he could figure out how to get around Roma blind.

Then he realized he couldn't hear anything, and a chill ran down his spine. It wasn't natural. Roma was  _never_ completely silent.

A wind suddenly tugged the edges of his toga out in front of him, and Percy covered his eyes with his arm. Debris suddenly shot into the air, like a tornado had touched down right in the center of Roma.

Then it died down. Percy opened his eyes again and looked around him. It was still the same.

 _Alright_  then. This was officially the strangest dream he ever had.

Suddenly, Roma rippled all around him, like a rock had been thrown into a puddle. Percy felt a scream rip its way out of his throat when the ground shifted beneath his feet and he launched himself at a tree to catch his balance.

A throng of monsters marched upon Roma, their expressions blank as they swept across the streets. Chaos was all around him, women were screaming, children were crying, men were rushing toward any weapon they could get their hands on. Everyone was panicking.

His heart leapt into his throat as he spun around in a full circle. He didn't know where he should help out first, who needed his help the most.

"Don't panic," he called out, reaching toward a small girl who had hair the color of the sun. She ran  _threw_ his body, and he stumbled back. His heart pounded and he felt like he had fallen into a lake during winter all of a sudden. He was breathing heavily as his heart sank into his stomach and he stared at the tiny thing as she ran blindly through the fighting.

Blood was everywhere, blood and monster dust. The monsters kept on coming, and more and more Romans fell around him.

Something inside of him snapped and he felt a sick, churning feeling in his stomach. How dare they? This was  _his_ home and they weren't allowed to hurt his people. This was his kingdom—he was supposed to be the head of defense. How did he not realize something was wrong before this happened?

He reached for a pitchfork, but when he tried to pick it up, the weapon went through his fingers.

 _No_.  _No, no, no, no, no_. He couldn't be—he had to help them somehow, in some way. He had to be corporal.

Hazel appeared next to him, and he nearly sighed out of relief. He didn't know her as well as he knew Reyna or Jason, but she was definitely trustworthy (and kind).

"Hazel," he said, walking over to her. He winced when he heard a loud roar and a crash. "I need you to grab the second legion and form rank to—"

She walked  _through_  him.

Percy felt something tight in his chest and his breathing started to become quick and unsteady. Realization dawned in him, and it brought a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He wasn't corporal; he couldn't help them.

The scene shifted again, dissolving in a whirl and forming quickly, like he was riding on an eagle. It was Jason now. He was holding his sword in front of him, his eyes wild but alert as he swung it around in a wide circle, his legs crouched into a defensive position. Percy remembered those eyes, back when he had first met the son of Jupiter: Jason had attacked him and Reyna with a dagger in one of the back allies they had took when going back to the palace one evening . . . he had been higher than a bird because of the opium in his system. Percy remembered looking down on him with disgust, absolutely not pitying the boy who was merely a couple of years older than him. Homeless, a drug addict, a delinquent and absolutely off his rockers.

No pity at all. He still had no idea how Rachel and Reyna had managed to convince him to help him, even though Jason  _clearly_  hadn't wanted it at the time.

(Actually, he remembered him yelling about how there was nothing "wrong" with him.)

"Where are you?" Jason shouted, his voice a little higher than usual. He was jumping on his feet lightly, a habit he had never been able to completely break. "I know you're here!"

Percy stepped into the light, feeling a slight flutter of hope inside of him. Maybe not all was lost. Maybe there was a chance he could see him, or sense him. Whatever.

A woman stepped forward as well. He froze when her silver eyes landed on him, his breath hitching in his throat. A chill ran deep into his bones as he realized that this woman was  _not_ someone he wanted to have as an enemy—she was ruthless, she was cruel, and she was  _dangerous_. He didn't know how he knew that though.

He felt the tension drain out of him when they drifted over to Jason. Then he felt guilty he felt relieved when he saw his forehead glimmering with sweat and his hands shaking as he brandished his sword out in front of him.

"You're not going to sacrifice them!"

The scene suddenly dissolved into white light.

"No!" he screamed out of sheer frustration, trying to push at the white light away. As if that would do anything. "I need to know what he's talking about! That's my home, dammit! I need to help them!"

The white light didn't budge, and he kicked it. He lost his balance and fell with a yelp to the ground, wincing slightly. His back hurt again, and when he rolled over, a crimson substance flecked what he assumed was the ground. It looked sort of endless, and even as he watched, it slowly began to bubble and dissolve.

A shiver ran through him. What  _was_ this place?

"Hello, Perseus."

His heart leapt to his throat. That voice, it was  _his_ voice, except it wasn't. It was overlaid with other voices, making it almost . . . echo, sort of. No, that wasn't right. It sounded like a thousand souls were trapped in that voice—and that was a scary thought.

Then he looked up, and stared at the . . .  _thing_.

A humanoid figure stood in front of him. It was the same height as he was, and it had the same built, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of having eyes and a mouth and a nose and skin and ears and hands and feet and everything else, it was made out of pure, white light. A shadowy outline surrounded the figure so that it stood out against the white and didn't blend in with it, and yet when he glanced down, it had no shadow.

An unpleasant, tingling sensation pricked at the back of his neck, yet when he glanced over his shoulder, no one was there.

"Don't worry," it said. "The sprites won't harm you unless I tell them to."

That didn't exactly reassure him. Percy cautiously reached for his sword, but it wasn't there and he couldn't feel his dagger where it usually hid by his hip. He eyed the thing, wondering if it was going to harm him or if it was going to help him. What were its intentions?

No, wait, there was more important matter . . .

"What are you?"

The figure chuckled, like he found something incredibly amusing about his question. Percy balled his fists by his sides when it waved its arm, like it was shooing away a pesky fly or dismissing a slave. He never liked being laughed at, and he  _hated_ it when people treated him as inferior. That was why he tried to treat everyone as equal, even Grover, though he was a slave. They were all human, nothing more, nothing less, and in the end, they all came in and went out the same way. No man had the right to call himself 'superior' to another—that was arrogance: they were all flawed in some way or other, and anyone who didn't see that was a fool.

His mater taught him that, before she drowned. It was one of her basic principles: "Treat your neighbor as you would treat yourself." That was one of her favorite maxims.

"I am the very first being in the universe. I am the very air which you tiny humans breathe in and exhale. I am the balance that keeps the scales between good and evil even. I am the first Protogenoi." He paused dramatically, before proclaiming; "I am Khaos."

"Oh." His voice was considerably smaller than it had been before. He felt a little dizzy actually, and he pressed a hand to the side of his head. Maybe he was losing too much blood? "So, uh . . . what about your siblings? Are they here or, err, somewhere in, um, Abyss?"

He was pretty sure that was the name of the deepest pit of Tartarus anyway, Abyss. Just the name gave him a bad feeling and he pushed himself up so that he was in a sitting position. Khaos. Κηαος. Yeah. Nothing to be worried about—he was just talking to the deity who created the universe. No biggie.

"Do  _not_ speak of that accursed pit." Khaos' voice was still the same infuriating calm tone, but there was an edge of danger hidden behind it. "I was trapped there for eons with Gaea, Ouronos and Pontos. Do you have  _any_ idea of how torturous that was? While my siblings bickered away like three little rabbits, I had to endure the migraines it gave me. Migraines! It was horrible!"

Γαεα, Οθρονος, Ποντος. Yeah, the earth, the sky and the sea. Must have been fun.

He nodded quickly. "Sorry, sorry." He held his hands up, crossing his legs. "It must have been awful, erm, Lord Khaos?"

"It was," Khaos had a satisfied tone in its voice. "That is why I am going to help you . . . possibly. My younger sister, Nyx, well, she's managed to bribe Eris into her agenda to bring all twelve of us back."

Percy felt his face crease into a frown. Bring all twelve of them back? But wouldn't that be a  _good_ thing for Khaos? After all, wouldn't he, she, it — _whatever_ — wouldn't it  _want_ to come back and overthrow the gods?

"Of course not!" Khaos snapped, waving its hand. He must have spoken that last thought aloud or something (or Khaos was a mind reader . . . it wouldn't surprise him.  _Nothing_ could surprise him anymore).

Khaos stood up and began to walk away. Percy copied its motions and followed it, clasping his hands behind his back like he did whenever he was in the presence of his pater. He didn't want it to get out of sight: to be honest, he didn't trust it. At all. Obviously he couldn't tell it that in its face, so he had to go for subtlety.

"I don't want them to run rampant throughout the world— the balance was completely thrown off! Fate, destiny, good, evil, right, wrong, all that shebang— the balance must remain perfectly balanced. Neither side can win in this eternal battle. No, I don't want to overthrow the gods."

He frowned. "So, you're a good guy then?" The image was rather difficult to wrap his head around. He had always pictured Khaos as a dark haired man with a mustache trying to take over the world. Not . . . _this_.

"No, Perseus," its voice was suddenly heavy. "I am not 'good', I am  _chaos_. My name is  _chaos_ for a reason—I am the one who keeps the balance in check, which means that my personality can tip over any moment. One moment, I can be working for the gods and helping them, the next I can be helping Nyx."

Percy frowned.

"Not that I would expect you humans to understand the concept of the balance." Khaos chuckled to himself under his breath after he finished that sentence. Percy tried to burn a hole in the back of its white head . . . well, he was pretty sure it was the back of the head.

"Are you saying you could be trying to make me choose the wrong option?"

Khaos turned so that it was facing him, possibly. It walked up to him, and Percy wondered what it was thinking, what it was feeling—if it could feel or think anything. Was it like an animal in that way? Only acting on instinct? Or was it sort of like a human, who had rational thought and expression?

Darkness began to bleed into his vision again. This time though, he didn't start panicking, nor did he fight it.

"I don't know."

He stared at it, not exactly sure  _what_ he should think or feel. A small stirring of pity began inside of him though, and he couldn't squash it no matter how hard he tried. If it wasn't lying, then to not know if you were good or evil . . . that seemed awful.

"Can I trust you?"

"I don't know. I may be trying to help you, but at the same time, I may be trying to deceive you—lead you astray."

Percy looked down at the ground, or, at least down at his feet. Everything was made out of white mist— there was no ground, or sky. Just a blinding white vastness, that had no end or beginning. It didn't make sense, how a place like this could exist.

Nothing made sense anymore, actually. He had no idea what to feel toward Annabeth. Rachel wanted him to move on (along with Jason and Reyna). His pater had sentenced him to a fifty lashes at that flogging, and he got nearly sixty or seventy. The flogging was technically Annabeth's fault, since she spoke up to his pater about that slave girl. That slave girl, Bianca, told him Roma lived in fear though that didn't make sense. Roma was a  _happy_ place . . .

He had no idea anymore. It was just too much.

"I almost wish I can help you."

When he looked up again, Khaos had disappeared, and hands made out of purple-black shadows were reaching out toward him. They were long and fragile looking, but he didn't like them. They didn't particularly  _feel_ malicious, but there was something  _there_  that told him they weren't safe. He wanted to get away from them . . .

He contemplated running, but they were almost upon him and he had a feeling that they would just catch him anyway. There was no use fighting against them.

So, he closed his eyes, exhaled, and let the darkness descend upon him, blocking out all the light in wherever this thing was.

After all, Roma was the safest place right now in this world, flawed though it was. Nothing like what he saw in this dream could happen to it. This was just a manifestation of his worse fears.

It was impossible.

Yeah, nothing bad could happen to Roma.

This was definitely one weird dream. It was going to give him a headache when he woke up, trying to figure this one out. He could feel it coming on already.

* * *

* _Don't tell me it's impossible to see the ocean floor. Just don't. I know this as a fact—I've been out at sea for weeks at a time, and_ yes,  _it's crystal clear out there. Heck, I live right on a bay (a very, very cold bay at the moment, which has loads of sharks in it…) and the bottom is probably a mile down and I can see all the way down . . . even though it's really, really dark. Hmm, maybe I can't see all the way done then._


	13. Capvt XIII: Soul Fire

Capvt XIII: Soul Fire

**Percy**   
_Spring/Summer, x176 BC_

* * *

The moment the dream released him from its hold, Percy jolted upright. Instantly, his back flared up in pain and he had to grit his teeth to stop a whimper from escaping his lips. He instinctively curled into himself though— it  _hurt_. They  _still_  burned, even though it been over two weeks since the flogging happened.

 _Never again,_ he repeated the promise he made to himself when he defended Annabeth and got into this whole mess, thinking about how the pain crippled him. He had been able to keep track of how many times he had been struck at first, but then he had lost count somewhere after twenty. His back had first gone numb, and then it felt like it was on fire…

He shook his head and pressed his hands against the sides of his head. He had to forget about it, to at the very least give himself the peace of mind, but the whole ordeal was burnt into his skull. He didn't think he would ever forget it, even after the scars healed.

Fifty lashes, Annabeth had said. Fifty lashes all over his back, because she had spoken out.

 _Stop it, Perseus_ he scolded himself.  _It's not her fault. In fact, it's pater's fault._

 _But she was the one who instigated it._ A sly voice murmured, but he shook his head at it. He hated the fact he couldn't control his thoughts like he could control his expression or words— he wanted to; he wanted them to be happier thoughts, but he couldn't  _change_ them. He didn't know  _how._

He rested his forehead on the base of his palm and frowned slightly. He glanced over to the side of the bed where Annabeth usually slept, but she wasn't there. In fact, it wasn't even warm.

A slight flutter of panic began in his chest —what if she had been kidnapped?— and he looked into the shadows, hoping she was playing a game of hide'n'seek. He couldn't see her, but that didn't mean she wasn't hiding.

"Annabeth?" He called out, but she didn't respond. He slowly maneuvered his legs so that they hung over the side. "Annabeth, where are you?"

She still didn't answer his question, and a lump formed in his throat. It was ridiculous, that he was worried about her, but there you have it. It was probably because she didn't know how to fight, and her temper was just as bad as his, if not worse. And she hadn't learned to curb her tongue.

 _Okay,_ he told himself.  _Deep breaths. There's no rational reason to be worried. In fact, she probably just went out to get a glass of water because the pitcher's empty._

However, when he looked over to the side, where the clear pitcher of water sat on top of his endtable, it wasn't empty. He tore the covers out and swung his legs around into his sandals, grabbing the spare dagger he kept underneath his pillow while he was at it. She had to be fine. She was alright… she had to be… Nothing had to have happened.

He felt sick, but he managed to pull a cloak across his shoulders so that no one would hopefully recognize him. A buzzing sound began in his skull, and he walked slowly toward the door so that he wouldn't strain his back more. He had to find her; what if she had gotten hurt? He had made a promise to protect her, and his mater had said that you could never  _ever_ go back on your promises.

So, he looked for her. Silently.

After he got out of their chambers, he turned down a corridor, scowling at nothing in particular. His back wasn't bothering him, oddly enough, and his heart was thumping wildly, but he didn't really dwell on these things. He had more important things to worry about, like, where in Hades was Annabeth.

Left. Right. Left, left, right. He let his feet guide him mostly, since he had no specific place in mind for where she could be- he didn't really know any of her interests. He turned down another hall…

Two figures stood in front of him, and Percy recognized them as Reyna and Jason by her dark hair and the way he bounced on the balls of his feet. He froze when they came down his way, looking like they were arguing over something.

Normally, they got along well— in fact, he had only seen them fight,  _truly_ fight, once or twice, and it hadn't been pretty. They had ignored each other for a month, and the tension in the air was so palpable that he could cut through it with a knife. He really didn't want to get in the middle of their drama- it usually meant that he would end up being sucked into the black hole with them.

He glanced over to his right and darted behind the tapestry that hung down off of the wall. He held his breath as they came up and stopped somewhere in front of him, as if that would stop them from realizing his hiding place.

"This isn't working," he heard her say in a quiet voice, and he suddenly felt incredibly uncomfortable being here. He felt like he was intruding on a private conversation and it made him feel, dirty, almost. But he couldn't move— he was too curious now about what she was talking about, and a little scared about what she would do to him if she found out he was hiding here. "Is it, Jason?"

A pause, and he resisted the urge to peak around the thick fabric to see their expressions.

"Reyna…" Jason's voice was unsure, and he could just  _imagine_  him running a hand through his thick, blond hair the way he always did when he was tired or stressed.

"Tell me the truth, Jason. I  _need_  to hear it."

Percy really wished he was anywhere but where he was right now. He didn't like overhearing private conversations, and this was obviously a private conversation. But he was terrified of Reyna, and she wouldn't believe him if he said he just came over by accident. It was too late to be an accident; he was clearly trying to eavesdrop on them now.

"I don't know, Reyna." Jason's voice was heavy, but he had to strain his ears to hear him. "Maybe it's something we'll work through like we always do…" A pause. "I'm sorry, Reyna."

"It's not your fault."

He heard footsteps and he bit his bottom lip. So, there was something going on between them, but what? They had had their ups and downs, but they had always been able to work through them.

"I know you're behind the tapestry, Percy." Reyna said. He cringed slightly and considered staying still for a moment—but then decided that wasn't a good idea. Reyna would kill him.

He stepped out from behind the tapestry and up to her side so that they stood shoulder to shoulder.

"Sorry," he said. "It wasn't my intention to eavesdrop on you and Jason."

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair— she had it down for once.

"I know. Just… don't do anything rash Percy, please."

"What me?" he asked innocently, and her dark eyes snapped to his in a harsh glare. He swallowed hard and nodded slowly, relaxing a little when her eyes shifted away from his and landed on a spot in the distance. Then he frowned a little when he noticed the downcast expression etched on her face and the suspicious brightness in her eyes. Quickly, he shuffled around so that he was standing in front of her and placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I'll always be here if you need a shoulder to cry on… or punch."

She cracked a small smile and nodded at his silent assurance. Everything else was left unsaid, because he knew she already understood his intentions. They had been friends since they were infants— she was like an older slightly overprotective sister. They understood each other, they knew how to read between the lines.

So, he let her walk away from him without anymore assurances.

~…~

He gave up.

Annabeth had disappeared off the face of the Earth. He would never see her again. He had to plan her funeral. Would she like blue or gray? Wait, what was her favorite color? He should know what it was: he was her husband, wasn't he? Weren't husbands supposed to know this type of thing? Was he a bad husband?

Before he could sink down into a pit of depression, he heard a soft snuffling sound come from somewhere ahead of him. Instantly, his vision sharpened and unsheathed his knife slowly so that it wouldn't make a sound. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, like someone was behind his back, watching him, but when he glanced around, no one was there.

 _Calm down_ , he told himself, but he found himself sinking into a defensive stance slowly. He suppressed the slight sting of pain his back released , and thought,  _right now, you're not important._ He let his eyes trail across the small, open room, trying not to dwell too much on the way the drapss fluttered in the breeze (the palace had been opened, though the temperature was rapidly dropping).

"Who's there?"

Instantly, there was silence. Complete, utter silence— the crickets weren't singing, the breeze went silent; he couldn't even hear himself breathe. A foreboding sense of dread filled him then, because this wasn't  _right._ This wasn't normal. There was something  _wrong_ here, he didn't know how he knew that, but he did.

A small figure slowly stepped out from the corner, where the shadows the waning moonlight created where, and he felt something catch in his throat. It was a girl; her hair was the color of liquid sunlight, and her eyes were a similar shade to it, just a tad darker— like melted gold, almost. She looked defeated though for some reason, with a blank face and her eyes were dead, emotionless— she reminded him of a broken toy, either loved too much, or hated and thrown to the ground, only to shatter into a million pieces.

"Are you all right?" he asked then cursed at himself mentally— what a stupid question, the girl clearly was not "all right". She stared at a spot somewhere behind his shoulder, not blinking or giving any kind of response that she had heard him. For a moment, he wondered whether or not she was a mummy like from those Egyptian tombs, but her chest kept moving up and down, a clear sign she was alive and breathing.

He touched her shoulder— it was cold, much colder than what could be considered natural for a human being. Her eyes moved up slowly, and he felt a chill go through him at the reminder of the emptiness in her gaze. It wasn't natural, it wasn't  _human_. He didn't know what to do. What would  _he_ want?

And then he realized it, those eyes reminded him a little of the way he had felt— back when Rachel had been murdered. He had hated it when everyone coddled him, or told him sorry, or that it was going to get better . . .

"Hey," he said, softening his tone. She was still staring at him with that blank gaze, but there was something behind it . . . some emotion he couldn't quite name, now that he really looked. "It's going to be alright."

She blinked slowly, a tiny frown forming between her eyes, marring her elfin features.

"How do you know? You don't know what I've been through." Her voice was soft, but he could hear something in her voice, something boiling yet restrained. His heart stuttered a little at her voice, surprised she had talk, but he felt as if something had  _shifted_ in the air, if that was possible. He didn't know  _what_ it was though, and maybe he was just imagining it.

He shrugged, pretending nonchalence. "I don't know what you've been through, I admit, but I think I know what you're feeling— or something familiar, at least." Her gaze fell on a spot by his feet, and he wondered what was so fascinating about that particular area. It was the same everywhere, the floor. The same palenesse that reminded him of Brittish skin, and the same hard, cold texture.

Something inside of him ached and he swallowed hard, thinking back on that time. While he had never been alone physically, mentally was another matter entirely. In those days, he had thought that there was no light, no warmth… no  _hope_. And no one had really understood that, except maybe Jason. And he had been busy staying strong for everyone else while the world crashed all around him.

"It's cold, isn't it?" His tongue wasn't working right, it felt floppy or maybe it was attached to the roof his mouth. He didn't like thinking back on those times, he didn't like  _remembering_. "And lonely. It's almost, suffocating, the feeling… and it's dark."

When he had been a child, he had discovered he had the ability to insult visiting nobles and plebeians without them even realizing it. They had been subtle, his insults, hidden under fake smiles, fancy words and fabricated lauds. That ability had kept him from dying out of boredom when his pater had hosted those gatherings and balls.

And yet… despite his ability as an orator, he found himself struggling to find the proper words to describe that dark place where he could find no hope. He didn't know how to describe how hard it had been to wake up every sunrise, struggling to find the will to get out of bed to greet another bleak day without Rachel in his life.

She nodded slowly, hesitantly, and he felt something like his heart rise into his throat. He swallowed a few times, but he felt a little dizzy for some reason— he didn't know why.

"I know," he said, voice rough. "I know. But it'll get better one day, I promise. Maybe people have already told you this, or maybe you haven't told anyone else, but it  _will_ get better— you just got to hang on long enough."

And it did get better, eventually. Not okay, exactly, but it got easier, and eventually better. He didn't know when exactly, or how, but it did. Eventually, he started  _making_  reasons to get out of bed, why he should enjoy life: she would not have wanted him to be like this, Roma needed him . . .

She cocked her head to the side a little. Her eyes were still empty, but there was something in her eyes, some hot emotion, he couldn't quite place, or name.

"What do I have to live for? You are Heir Apparent: Rome needs you. Nothing, nobody needs  _me_. I have no friends, nobody cares for me."

He couldn't stop himself from chuckling a little despite the gut clenching feeling he got from her words. The poetic irony. People thought  _he_  was Roma, but that was just ridiculous. Roma wasn't the emporer, or the king, or the Caesar- it was the  _people_ inside of Roma that mattered.

"Roma doesn't need me, far from it. If anything,  _I_ need  _Roma_." He wasn't just talking about his country, the land in it. He was talking about the people. "As for a reason to live, then you should live for _yourself_."

"Huh?" She looked confused, and he bit his bottom lip. He had no idea how to word what he was thinking, he didn't know how to describe his thoughts. Hades, he didn't even  _know_ what he was thinking, not really. The only thing he understood was the mantra of  _must live for myself_ and  _don't die, don't die, don't kill yourself_ that went through his head. He didn't really know whose words those were, his or someone else's, but they had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. If she did kill herself, and he had been the one who could possibly change that, he knew he would feel awful about it, and that would be an understatement.

And then he remembered something his mater told him once, long ago.

"My mater once said that life is beautiful." He ran a hand through his hair. "People have a tendency to overcomplicate life, make it this big, scary thing, which is why you have to take a step back, away from everyone, and look. And when you do look,, you can see it really is beautiful. It's simple, if we don't try to go against the natural order of things, but its beautiful."

She tilted her head a little, and he knew he held her interest. "How, though? How is it beautiful?"

"That's the trick, isn't it? We've all got different definitions of beautiful, for some, it's the everchanging culture, or for others, the beauty in our land. A lot of people also like to watch humankind, to watch a baby grow into an infant and then a child and then an adult. "

She stared at him for a moment, turmoil in her eyes, then she dropped her gaze to the ground and began to walk in the opposite direction. He watched her go, feeling a strange sort of worry bubble up into the surface. He shouldn't feel worried about her though, he didn't know her, and he shouldn't be attached to anyone other than his country.

He cursed under his breath. He cared too much, he knew that. There had to be something wrong with him- no matter how much he tried, he couldn't  _stop_ caring.

She paused at the end of the corridor, and glanced over her shoulder, and there was a strange light in her eyes, but he didn't know what it was. It was hidden, but it was there. And it was bright, so bright she almost seemed to be  _vibrating_ with it . . .

"Thank you," she said, and disappeared around the bend.

And then he realized it.

She had had fire in her eyes.

~…~

Percy stared down at where Annabeth stretched out like a cat, her eyes illuminated in the moonlight as she looked up at him.

"Is that you, Percy?" she asked, "You've been gone for a while."

He rubbed the back of his head, not exactly sure how to explain the fact he went looking for her, and sat on the edge of their bed. She tensed a little, like she was preparing to curl away from him. For a moment, he wondered if he should take the daybed, but then realized that she was the one who made him sleep in the bed with her, despite the fact she always seemed to shy away from skin contact of any kind.

"It's me," he said. "Where have you been?"

She sat up, the blankets pooling down into her lap.

 _Don't look down,_ he told himself sternly, making sure he kept his eyes on hers. She was wearing one of her thinner nightgowns, probably due to heat, but it was a little see-through. Not that he'd tell her that, she would probably would kill him or something.

"Sorry. I was, um…" her cheeks dusted a faint pink color and she bit her bottom lip. "Well, to be honest, I was outside taking a walk."

He shook his head and laughed a little despite himself, wriggling underneath the covers. For some reason, he found he couldn't quite believe what she said, but then again, it really was none of his business. Besides, she was safe.

"You're something else." He finally muttered.

"Is that a compliment I hear?" he could tell she was smiling by her tone of voice. He flopped down against the bed and turned on his side, though he was careful about not opening his wounds again.

"Just shut up and go to sleep, Annabeth."

The last thing he heard before he sank into unconsciousness was her soft sigh, and a soft, "I'll try . . ."


	14. Capvt XIV: When Stars Align

Capvt XIII: When Stars Align

**Percy**   
_Summer, x176 BC_

* * *

**IT**  was the fifth time in seven sunrises, and still Percy kept waking up to Annabeth's side of the bed either cooling off or cold, as if she had never slept in there in the first place.

He sighed softly and sat up, laying his hand against her side of the bed. It was cold, which meant she hadn't been here for a while. He bit his bottom lip, feeling a nervous, clenching feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he wriggled out from underneath the covers. This couldn't be good for her health, all these late nights . . . it definitely wasn't good for his. While the lacritations he got from the flogging had either scabbed or healed over and had stopped hurting every time he stretched himself, they were still visible and he was pretty sure all this worrying was not good for then.

"Typical," he grumbled, pulling his cloak across his shoulders and slipping his sandals on over his feet. He grabbed his favorite dagger out from beneath his pillow. "You hate her one moment, the next you're going out of your mind with worry. It's one extreme to another. What next? I'm going to confess my undying love for her?" He paused for a moment and considered that sentence. He liked Annabeth, but he doubted he would ever love her, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't tell her because she probably didn't like him in that way. Sometimes though, he wondered when she gave him a particularly deep look or when her touch sent scorching fire through his body . . .

He shook his head and chuckled at his thoughts, walking over to the door. "You're ridiculous, Percy. Thinking stuff like that? Yeah, when pigs fly or maybe when Hell freezes over."

He entertained an image of the black fire from the underworld slowly being covered by ice as a frost set in. He didn't really like that image, there was an undeniable sense of wrongness about it, even in his thoughts.

Great, he knew he was a little paranoid, but getting "feelings" from just thinking? That was a new level of paranoia altogether.

He placed his hand on the knob of the door and turned. A blast of chilly air came from the outside, a stark contrast with the pleasant warmth from the dying fire, and he tightened his cloak before he exited their chambers entirely. It had to be  _freezing_  . . . he wouldn't be surprised if it was cold enough for those white flake things to fall out of the sky the children loved to play in during the long winter months.

And it was summer . . . this had to be the oddest weather he had ever witnessed.

He walked pass a window, and he found his gaze being drawn to the night sky. The stars shone like little diamonds: sparkling, white and pure, clashing drastically against the inky night sky that reminded him of the tales his mater told him of, where sailors fell into black holes and were never seen again.

 _If I were Annabeth,_ he thought, leaning his head against the window.  _Where would I be?_

That was the problem though. He didn't  _know_ Annabeth; he had no idea what she was doing with these late-night wanders or where she would go, he didn't know what her interests were. He didn't know who she was, not really. Sure, he knew she had a sense of sass, but that wasn't really anything. She was jumpier now than she had been on their wedding night, which made no sense either . . .

And then he thought back to when she gave him his spare dagger, saying a cryptic "thanks". He had put it on his desk as he always did, and how he had caught her fingering it a few times with a distant expression etched on her face.

 _Surely she wouldn't . . ._ he bit his bottom lip, absentmindedly brushing his fingers across the hilt of his dagger. She couldn't be cutting herself or something, right? Surely she couldn't be  _that_ unhappy here . . . he knew Roma wasn't her homeland, Greece; far from it. But she seemed relatively happy here. But, then again, she had been somewhat distant and from what he had gather, she wasn't on the best of terms with most of her friends because of that slave girl who had been executed.

He certainly hadn't helped matters much either, when he found out . . . she had clearly been guilt-stricken when she had told him, and he hadn't said anything other than turn his back (figuratively, since he couldn't move) on her. He hadn't even spoken, and he was pretty sure he had said some things to her he normally wouldn't have when he had been half delirious from the pain . . .

. . . He had to find her. Now. What if she was going to kill herself or something? Where would she go? Outside? Probably, since someone was less likely to find her, but where would she go outside? In the woods? In the open? By the training grounds? Well, there were weapons in the training ground . . .

Yeah, that was where he would look first—the training grounds. Maybe he was just blowing things out of proportion again. Hopefully.

* * *

Relief washed over him the moment he saw her in the training arena. What was it with him lately, anyway? He kept getting worried over the strangest things for some reason . . . this wasn't him.

She was punching a bag, but it was all off. For one, she wasn't wearing any type of armor to help her keep her balance, and she wasn't using her hips to throw those punches . . . just her arms and brute force.

He found himself taking a step forward, and then another and another, until he was standing right behind her.

"You know, you're not doing it right." He said casually, and she drew in a sharp breath and looked over her shoulder up at him. Her eyes were wide, like she was alarmed, then they narrowed ever so slightly.

"Then how am I supposed to do it, genius?" Her tone was more sour than a lemon. He leaned into the post and crossed his arms, taking in her defensive stance she must have subconsciously sunk into. He let his lips curl up into a smirk; he knew how much it aggravated her.

"You're weaker than everyone else," he remarked casually. "You're a woman, while most of your opponents are men." She opened her mouth, her eyes flashing with fury, and he held his hand up to silence her. "You're at a physical disadvantage, even compared to other women. You're small." He shrugged, watching as she puffed her cheeks out. "So, what do you need to be?"

The fury slowly faded from her eyes and they clouded over with confusion, like she didn't understand what he was implying, then her eyebrows joined together and her eyes darkened into thought, and finally, her gaze went sharper than a dagger and she stared at him in calculation. It was quick, far quicker than he expected.

"If I'm weaker," she made a face at the word, "Then I need to be . . . faster?" Her voice was unsure, but it didn't stop the bolt of . . .  _pride?_ He had to wrestle down the urge to turn his smirk into a grin.

"Exactly," he said. "You need sharper reflexes. If you learn to attack first, you could do better. You're fast; if you manage to get a few good hits in before they know what's going on, you could win." He shrugged, then stared at her thoughtfully. "Punch me."

"What?"

"Punch me," he repeated.

"But I could hurt you!"

"Are you joking?"

"You're injured."

"Not really, I've almost healed."

"Well . . ." she stomped her foot. She  _literally_ stomped her foot on the ground, and crossed her arms. He raised an eyebrow. "Stop making that face at me!"

"What face?"

"The one that aggravates me. That one!" He stared at her, and she rolled her eyes slowly. "Ugh, the smirky-bastardy face."

"Smirky-bastardy?"

"Shut up."

He smirked. She waved a hand around in the air, and he smothered a smile at her ruffled expression.

"Annabeth."

"Oh, fine."

She pulled her arm back, and he knew instantly that she was going to leave herself too open. As her fist flew out, he neatly stepped to the side and snapped her arm around behind her back.

"Gods, Annabeth," he stared at the back of her head. "That was pathetic."

Her eyes were round again as she twisted her head so that she could watch him. He didn't let go of her arms.

"Well, how about you show me how to do something that isn't  _pathetic_ ," she spat defensively. She struggled against his hold, and he chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. She looked angry, but also a little hurt. Were his words too harsh? He let go of her arms, causing her to stumble and fall on the ground. He winced, but didn't offer to help her up.

She stood on her own, brushing herself off with an angry glint in her eyes. She stalked off and he considered going back to bed for a moment. It was be so much easier than dealing with the hothead in front of him . . . the  _prideful_ hothead that was.

But no, he couldn't leave her alone in good conscious. She probably should learn to defend herself, especially if his suspicions of her being a demigod were correct.

"Annabeth," he called out, causing her to hesitate before continuing. "Wait, you need armor."

Her head moved gradually, like the lord of time, Kronos himself, had decided to make time move slowly. When her eyes locked on his, they were wide and confused, and he felt a strange clenching in his chest. No, it wasn't strange . . . he was pretty sure he had felt it before, with Rachel.

 _Impossible,_ he thought, shaking his head slightly. There was no way he was forming feelings for Annabeth. She was hotheaded, and rude, and brash, and immature, and naïve, and prideful . . .

He strode up and stood in front of her. She placed her knuckles on her hips, and cocked her head a little to the left.

"How come?"

"I'm pretty sure if you have the opportunity, you want to have extra protection when you have to fight a monster, am I correct?" he didn't mention the second one: that the extra padding would help her keep her balance.

"Well, yeah, I guess."

He nodded, then eyed her slumped posture. That was another thing that wasn't good for her balance.

He turned around and walked into the armory, with her following behind him, he noticed. He made a beeline for the armor while she diverted her attention to the weapons.

Going through the armor, he realized how many different emotions he felt that night. Worry, fear, relief, amusement . . . sheesh, this woman really  _was_ going to be the death of him one day.

He grabbed a set that looked approximately her size, and walked over to her where she was running her hands across a dagger. He grimaced at the sight of his least favorite weapons.

"You don't want one of those," he warned, causing her to look at him. "And besides, you won't be able to even use one now. You need to work up stamina and your muscles."

"Why?"

"Why what?" he held the armor out to her, and she took it. A lost expression crossed her features as she ran her fingers across one of the many buckles, and he bit back a smile. She wouldn't know how to do her armor, herself, now would she?

"Why wouldn't I want to use a knife?"

"Dagger," he corrected then continued, "Knife fighting is brutal and dirty. You're throwing yourself at someone else's knife or sword. You're going to be hit, and you have to know that  _as a certainty_ or you shouldn't fight in the first place. It's morbid, gruesome, and just plain nasty. Knife wounds don't kill someone right away either, usually. You cut them and piss them off, and then you try to live long enough that they bleed out all the adrenaline. Swords can stab through a person and end it relatively quick—knives inflict pain and make it personal."

She puckered her lips, like she just ate something sour, and an unsettled expression crossed her features. He didn't like having to put it in such gruesome words, but he had to warn her in a way that she would remember, and he knew she hated prolonged deaths. He hated it himself; he hated the Gladiators. If he could, he would stop them . . . well, there  _would_ be a day when he would be able to stop them. For his reign at the very least.

That was, if he ever summoned the guts to go against hundreds of years of tradition. And if he didn't destroy Roma in the process. He had an unfortunate tendency to lose things close to him; he didn't want Roma to go on that list.

"Hey, would you help me put this on?" She sounded frustrated, hair waving in her eyes as she attempted to buckle a strap in the wrong place. He chuckled, and she shot a withering glare at him (which he ignored). " _Perseus_."

" _Annabeth_ ," he said in the same tone, mocking her. Her eyes narrowed again, and he laughed at her. He quickly walked up to her side and started at the top. "Stand up straight," he said, the smile still on his face. He pressed his hand gently against her back, which made her stiffen. "It'll be easier to keep your balance." He tightened a strap around her middle, and then started to buckle the last few up. She held her arm up, allowing him better access.

"How do I go at this training thingy?" she asked, her tone bordering curious. He tilted his head, considering it. An image of the forest he found her in a few months ago, the one when she was chased by a Cyclopes, formed inside his head. He had an idea.

"Running," he nodded his head in approval. "You will be able to jog the arena one hundred times faster than me one day." She groaned loudly, and that made blood rush between his ears, and a grin worked its way on his face. "And you're going to make bread."

He placed his hands on her waist and spun her around so that she faced him. As he pulled another strap, she tapped him on his chin. His breath caught in the back of his throat and he stared at her, startled, fumbling with it for a moment.

"You, my friend, are evil." She decided, nodding to herself. "I  _hate_ running. Do I really have to do this?"

He jerked his head, trying to clear the buzzing out of his head.

"Uh, yeah." His throat felt a little hoarse, and he dropped his gaze from her eyes. He figured at some point he would feel physically attractive to her—after all, she was a very beautiful woman.

"You alright Percy? You look a little pale."

He smiled up at her, a smile that felt too wide. She blinked, like she had been surprised.

"I'm fine."

Well, he'd just have to ignore it for now.

_[And that was how everything began.]_

 


	15. Capvt XV: Controlled Chaos

Capvt XIV: Controlled Chaos

**Annabeth**   
_Summer, x176 BC_

* * *

**ANNABETH** dreamt of slimy hands pinning her arms above her head, against the wall. Something  _horrible_ was pressed against her lips, the smell reminding her of several different kinds of food being degusted.

When she woke, there was a hot, prickly feeling in her eyes and her heart was beating so hard and quick she thought it would burst out of her chest. She wiped her hand across her face and the pale skin was wet. Tears.

Percy's side of the bed was cold; he hadn't been here for a while. She took several deep breaths and pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead. It was just a nightmare.

Her back felt sore though; no wait,  _everything_ was sore. Her shoulders ached, and her legs felt a bit . . . mushy. It was probably from all those punches she had thrown.

She glanced down at her knuckles; they had been rubbed raw.

_That was pathetic._

His words still stung for some inexplicable reason, but she knew he had a point. Her punches were weak, and she needed someone to guide her if she wanted to learn how to defend herself. It was just, she never expected  _Percy_  of all people to offer.

 _He'll probably decide I'm useless though,_ she thought.  _Then he'll give up on me._

She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair, fingers catching on the knots. No. He wouldn't. She didn't really know him, but if there was one thing she understood about him, it was that he was honorable. And sarcastic.

The door opened slowly, and when she looked up, Piper stepped neatly into the chambers. She smiled a little. While Luke and Nico were somewhat distant with her themselves (Nico, she understood, Luke, not so much) Piper hadn't ostracized her, and for that, she was grateful.

"You alright?" she asked, a concerned expression crossing her face as she sat the tray of food down on the foot of the bed. Annabeth wiped the back of her hand against her face again. "You look tired . . . and miserable."

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile on her face. Piper looked unconvinced. "I promise."

She raised an eyebrow, and a contemplative look crossed her face before it settled back into something neutral. "Okay, but you can tell me if anything's bothering you if you want."

Her smile felt much more genuine now.

"Thanks Pipes." She pulled the tray into her lap and broke the bread in half. She dipped one half into her tea and offered the second to her friend, who took it and stood.

"Alright," she said, her voice much lighter now. She took a bite out of the bread. "It's warm again—" which made no sense, it had been  _snowing_ that night. "—which means you'll want something light instead of heavy." She rummaged through the wardrobe with one hand, still chewing on the bread.

"Everything's light," she remarked, starting on the gruel.

Piper paused to shoot her a flat look. "Everything is loose and draping, which is a pain when you're running." She gestured toward her chest area, and Annabeth ended up snorting water up her nose. Yuck. "Seriously, if I could, I would wear armor under these things to keep my balance."

"… _oh_ ," she said softly, thinking back on how she and Percy spent the whole night trying armor on and then how he taught her how to adjust all the straps. He had been incredibly insistent on it, and she had thought it odd at the time.

"Oh, what?"

"What?"

"What?" Piper shook her head, perhaps to clear it. "I mean, you just said "oh". What were you thinking about?"

"Um . . ." the person she had been thinking of was Percy, and she couldn't exactly say that. Piper would assume crazy things, then tease her. "Nico?"

"Ew, gross." She pulled her face. "Seriously, who were you thinking of?"

". . . Nico."

She crossed her left arm on top of her test, rested her right elbow on it, and pointed at her. A grin was working it's way on her face.

"Annabeth. I know you better than that. And if you don't tell me . . ." she crossed the room, a leer appearing on her face and Annabeth felt something between a laugh and a shriek bubble in the back of her throat. "I shall  _tickle you!_ "

"NO!" she wriggled out from underneath the covers, and Piper let out an evil chuckle. "Piper—no—don't—! AH!" She fell over the side of the bed, with Piper following her. A feather light touch brushed against the sides of her ribs, and she squirmed against the feeling, a laugh forcing its way out of her mouth.

"O-okay, okay! I give! I give! It was Percy!"

Piper pulled back, and she sat up, tucking her arms by her sides protectively and pulling her legs against her chest. A slow grin spread across her face, and Annabeth shot daggers at her with her eyes. Traitor.

"Oooh." She drawled the word out, crossing her arms. "What was it about?"

She pulled a pillow off the bed and attempted to hit her with the object, but she yanked it out of her hands just as it descended upon her.

"None of your business!"

"Someone's getting defensive!"

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you are!"

"Am I interrupting something?" An amused voice asked, and she looked up at the cocoa-skinned slave.

"Grover!" Piper said loudly, "Did Percy seem different to you today?"

"What?"

"No!" She slapped her hand over Piper's mouth, who then licked her in retribution. "Ew," she groaned, shaking her hand out. She wiped it on the other woman's toga.

"Um . . . he seemed tired?" Grover looked confused, and a gleeful expression crossed Piper's face.

Great. Now she was getting ideas.

* * *

"Again?" she groaned, collapsing face-first on the ground in front of him. He chuckled. She slowly pushed herself off the ground, trying not to wince as she rubbed her sore calves. "But I ran yesterday. And today."

Percy squatted down in front of her, a grin working its way on his face. A part of her wished she hadn't agreed to this.

"You'll be thanking me later," he said in a singing voice. "Come on, Annabeth: you can do it. Only three more laps around the training grounds!"

"I already did ten yesterday, and eight today . . ."

He snickered. "I'll tickle you if you don't."

"How do you . . ." she stopped herself midsentence and glared at him. "You heard that?"

"All of it," he confirmed. She buried her head in her hands, thinking back on the embarrassing, onesided, conversation in which Grover and Piper drilled her about her private life.

"You are a sick, cruel bastard." She groaned, pushing herself up. She wobbled a little. "I hate you," she added.

"I love you too!" he said happily, then began to whistle a happy tune as he pranced away. She tried to burn a hole in his back with her eyes. He was the single, most insufferable, person in this land. And he knew it.

"You're insufferable," she grumbled, stretching until she heard her muscles pop.

"Thanks. But don't think I'm forgetting that you need to do three more laps."

She contemplated calling him a nasty name, but decided it wasn't worth the possibility of him assigning her even more laps.

"Alright, alright, I'm doing it, you insatiable prat."

* * *

"So, since it took you practically  _all night long_ last night to do eleven laps —  _honestly_ I can't believe it took you  _that_ long, it's only a mile long — you're doing twelve tonight." Percy ignored her glare, "And when you're done with that, you're going to mix bread dough up."

She rolled her shoulders back and stretched her arms, hearing the satisfying pop.

"You're brutal, you know that right?" She muttered, flexing her toes and pulling them back with her hands. He smirked slightly, again. Gods, he had to stop doing that; it was infuriating.

"Please, I could do one hundred laps in the time it takes you to do ten when I'm in top health." She felt a little twinge of guilt in her chest. He didn't seem to blame her about the flogging, but every time she saw the lacerations on his back, it reminded her that she had been the one who had indirectly caused them to be burned into his skin. And he hid the pain well from her, which only made the suffocating feeling worse, especially when a pained gasp or groan escaped from his lips.

"Y-yeah," she agreed. He frowned, and his mouth opened, probably to ask her if everything was alright, but she took off at a slow jog. She had learned the hard way that first night that it was better to start out slow and conserve her strength instead of going at full velocity. She'd probably have to work on that one day: speed.

Her heart was pounding beneath her ribs, and her breath came out in sharp gasps already, as she completed the first loop. Only eleven more to go.

Her thoughts eventually formed a silent mantra of  _one, two, three, four_ ,  _one, two, three, four,_ each new number landing with her steps. Her legs felt wobbly when she finally finished, and her lungs burned.

Percy looked slightly impressed as she bent double, hands on her knees as she gasped for the air she had spent. "Better," he said. "You  _are_ fast."

She grinned up at him, squinting a little, and his expression softened from its stern mask. She didn't know what had caused it to happen, but it was nice.

"Now come on, you shrimp," his smile sharpened into something truly demonic. "You're going to have  _fun_ baking bread."

.

.

.

Annabeth did not have fun making bread. It was squishy between her hands, and it was incredibly difficult to move the dough around. In fact, Percy ended up finishing it because he was "terrified it'll end up blowing the oven".

(It was as hard as a rock, and he mentioned something about forgetting to let it rise . . .)


	16. Capvt XVI: The Way of the Gods

Capvt XVI:The Way of the Gods

**Annabeth**   
_Summer, x176 BC_

* * *

**THE** first few lessons are always the hardest ones; they are the ones where everyone just . . gives up: they were the testing point, not because it was hard, exactly, but because it was unfamiliar. And anything unfamiliar meant it was difficult, which is why most people give up, because they want it to come quick and easy.

And nothing's ever easy or quick; or, at least, not the stuff that  _mean_ something.

However, all things become familiar with time and practice. Learning is a curious process. The level of difficulty grows higher after every lesson, and yet, at the same time . . . it grows easier too. You can understand the material, and in some ways, it is easier. You learn the teacher's style.

And when you master it, you realize all that labor meant you  _did something_ meaningful; and you realize, you can  _do anything_  yourself. You don't need other people to  _tell_  you what to do.

Curious indeed.

* * *

Annabeth hauled herself over the last ledge, her breathing coming out in ragged gasps. Her arms felt numb and there was an  _awful_ stich that burned in her side, but she had  _made it._  She had made it to the roof of the armary, despite her fear of heights.

"Well done," Percy said, smiling at her as he pulled himself onto the roof as well. She wondered how he did it so  _easily_ even though he was still recovering from his injuries; perhaps he was superhuman or something? Shaking the errant thought from her mind, she flopped down against the flat roof, crossing one arm over her eye. "You're getting better."

"Doesn't feel like it from my perspective," she grumbled, but that was a half-hearted lie at best, and she only said it to keep form. She knew she was getting stronger; she could feel her muscles developing and she didn't get tired as quickly as she used to. She probably lost some weight too. She felt good.

"Think positively," he poked her side, and she shuffled away from him, stiffling the shriek that rose in her throat. "Maybe I'll be able to begin teaching you how to wield a weapon. Well, only if it's not a bow. I'm rubbish at archary."

"You are?"

"You can't be good at  _everything_ ," he told her wryly.

They lasped into a comfortable silence. It was one of the pleasant nights, when it wasn't so cold that she wanted to wear six or seven layers, or so hot and humid she thought she was going to drown in her own sweat. The trees seemed to sigh in the wind, and the stars shone above her head. Her eyes were drawn to Andromeda, like the constellation was a Syrine's song.

"That's what it is . . ." He said softly, almost sounding surprised. She turned her head and looked up at him, but his eyes were fixated on the stars.

"What is?" She asked. He looked down at her then glanced away. His hand cupped the back of his neck.

"Your eyes; they're like stars."

Her cheeks felt warm, but her limbs lost their tautness at the same time. "You're really someone I can't understand easily, Percy. One moment harsh and strict, the next . . ." she shook her head. "I don't know; it's not exactly nice. Maybe someday I will be able to understand, just like fathoming constellations."

"Fathom?" He sounded confused. "What does that mean?"

"You don't know?" He shook his head, and his lips twitched- like he was getting ready to say something awfully sarcastic, or  _thinking_ it. She felt warm though as she pushed herself up. "Fathoming is like . . . thinking. No, more like, understanding. Understanding something difficult after thinking a lot about it. That's the best way I can describe it."

"Huh. Fathom then. I think I like that word." His eyes sparkled as he turned his head to look in her direction. "Congratulations, you knew something I didn't."

She rolled her eyes. "I doubt it'll happen often."

"Don't sell yourself short. You're smarter than you realize; most uneducated people don't have enough raw wits to banter, especially against someone like me."

"Modest, aren't we? To be honest, I heard some of the sailors when we were coming over here talking about how deep the water is, and I asked Nico." She said, trying to stiffle the smile that wanted to go on her face.

"How are things between you and Nico? Has he started talking to you yet?"

She shook her head. "No, not really. He just keeps giving me these  _looks."_  She felt a pang in her chest and she wrung her hands. She wanted to just be able to  _talk_ to him again like normal. He was her closest friend; almost like a brother.

"I'm sure he'll come around eventually. People don't forgive and forget easily."

"Yeah . . ." She agreed.

" _I'll marry my soulmate when I get old enough!"_

_"Don't be stupid Annabeth; your pater'll probably marry you off to some prince for some peace treaty."_

_"I can dream, can't I?"_

She had almost forgotten about that memory; they had been fourteen at the time, and she had been even  _more_ naive, with thoughts of princes taking her from Athens into the sunset.

She still believed in soul mates . . .

"What're you thinking about?

"Soul mates. What do you think a soul mate is?"

He went rigid, the light mood between the two of them shifting into one filled with tension immeadiately. It was funny how that could happen, like a pin dropping.

"What?" His lips twisted back into a sneer and his tone was practically  _dripping_ with acid. She managed to stop herself from cringing away from him; she had never seen him look so angry before. "Don't be ridiculous. They're not real."

"Fine," she muttered, ignoring the sting in her chest his words caused. "If you  _did_ believe in soul mates, then what would you think they are?"

He tilted his head, his eyes dark and unreadable again as his mood changed to calm. Annabeth lifted her chin, very deliberately not looking at the ground that was so . . .  _so_  far down. She could imagine how painful death by falling five fathoms* would be; she could hit the wall and smash there, or she could land on a ledge, break her ankle and then fall anyway, or she could splatter on concrete or-

"I—" he stopped, then his eyes fell to his hands. She frowned, and wondered just  _why_ he was so uncomfortable with this topic. If ge truly believed soul mates weren't real, then wouldn't he be unbothered by this? There was no logical explanation for his sudden shift in behavior.

"You're getting pretty worked up for someone who doesn't believe in soul mates," she pointed out, being deliberately blunt. His eyes cut into hers. She tilted her head. "It makes me wonder if you were truthful about—"

"Humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces." He interjected. "Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." His tone was hard, but there was a strange gleam in his eyes as he leaned back against the windowsill and looked out, crossing his arms. The wind whipped against her face, making her eyes burn. Well, she assumed that was the wind.

"That's awful."

He leaned back and closed his eyes. "That's the way of the gods. There's no escaping from it. We're barely insects in their eyes, or maybe a pawn, if they have an interest in us. It makes me sick to my stomach, just thinking about how they use demigods in their power plays up at Olympus."

Goosebumps formed on her skin at his words.  _"Champion of Olympus . . ."_ "You've hit the nail spot on with that," she said, running her hand through her hair. Her mother couldn't care any less about her— that much was obvious. In Athena's eyes, she was expendable; why else would she be named as Champion of Olympus? As if that were a great honor, as she said. She was little more than a slave fighting in the Gladiators. She was fated to die a premature death at the hands of an enemy.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Never mind. I'm just talking to myself." She pulled her legs up to her chest and rested her chin on them. She met his eyes, trying to ignore the way blood was pounding between her skull.

"What would you do if you knew when you're going to die?" She asked, and she was honestly curious about his answer. So far, the only predictability in him was the fact that he  _was_ unpredictable. Sometimes, it was maddening with her sense of cold rationality, but it was also . . . well, she didn't know how to explain it. It was interesting. It made her feel  _alive,_ trying to guess what mood he would swing into next.

"Me?" he pointed at himself, and she nodded. His eyebrows furrowed together into a frown and he leaned forward. "Huh. Well, I don't know really. I suppose it depends on how. I'd like to grow so old that my hair turns gray, even though that doesn't happen very often, but if I were honest with myself, I'll probably die from either some battle wound, poison, or illness—"

"Wait, I mean, you're  _facing_ Death. As in, Death is inevitable, and you know it'll happen soon. What would you do? Try to run away? Or stand tall and face it straight on?" She clarified.

"Oh." He interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on his knuckles, eyes darkening in thought. "I suppose I would try to run away."  _Wait, what?_ His lips twisted into the semblance of a smile. "Don't look so surprised. I'm not brave, Annabeth. Or, at least, not that brave. Besides, my self-preservation instinct has been so developed, it's no use trying to deny it. I think the only time I would die willingly is to save you, Jason or Reyna. Maybe pater too." He sighed. She wasn't sure what to feel, since she had been included in that list. Happy? Worried? Annoyed? "I wonder what Roma would think of their prince if they knew this." He tacked the last bit on, almost like an afterthought.

"Well, they say that the truth is the hardest thing to face, or admit." She said with a tiny shrug. She had never imagined him being scared of anything: even his own death. He always struck her as a bit of a high wire. "I guess that makes you braver than most."

His eyebrow shot up. "Aren't you supposed to be telling me about how a hero's supposed to be afraid of nothing or perfect or something?"

She wondered who told him that. If she ever found out, she'd probably strangle them.

"Why would I tell you that? You're not a hero; you're only a man; a human being. We're imperfect creatures." She smiled. "Besides, not everyone has to be heroes. I'm quite content with staying in the shadows and helping. Bravery is not ever being afraid; it's being able to continue on into the dark despite that fear." She touched his hand, and he smiled at her a little.

"Thanks, Annabeth."

The air was warm and humid again, the back of her neck already sticky from sweat. He and Roma were similiar like that for some reason; just as unpredictable as the other.

"What about you? What do you think of soul mates?"

She looked at him, but his eyes trained on the stars again, and wondered how most of their conversations went around in circles. They started with one thing, then one of them got off track, and somehow they went back to the topic they began with eventually. She shifted her body until her leg brushed against his.

"I think a soul mate is . . . not someone who comes into your life peacefully." She said. She pulled her gaze away from the side of his head and looked up at Pegasus. "It's someone who changes your version of reality, makes you question what is right and what is wrong. It's someone who marks a before and after in your life. It's not the perfect human being everyone has idealized, but an ordinary person, who manages to revolutionize your world in a heartbeat."

She must be spending too much time with Piper again.

"People don't change in a heartbeat."

She smirked. "Percy, our lives are the blink of an eye to a god or goddess." She leaned against him, her eyes slipping shut of their own volition. "I wonder what's it like to die."

"I'm not sure." His voice seemed to be all around her, even though that wasn't possible. Something warm and heavy draped across her shoulders and she heard him laugh. "Don't go to sleep yet. We've still got to go down." She opened her eyes. "I think we need to work a better schedule out. You're exhausted, and I'm still recovering."

"Yeah," she said and stood. Hopefully, getting down would be easier than going up- and if she fell, it was his fault this time. "Later. Let's get down though. Now."

"Yes,  _regina_."

"Shut up, Hero."

"Your wish is my command, my queen!"

"I'll push you off."

"No you won't."

"Try me."

"Ah, maybe some other day then."

"Coward."

"Wise Girl."

"Hero."

"That's not an insult!"

"Neither is Wise Girl, Seaweed Brain!"

" _What_ did you just call me?"

"Seaweed Brain."

"…I really, really don't like Poseidon."

She felt a rush of fond exasperation toward him and touched his arm briefly before she dropped herself down on the ledge.

* * *

* _Five fathoms is the equilvalent to 30 feet._


	17. Capvt XVII: The Precipice

Capvt XVII: The Precipice

**Annabeth  
** _Summer, x176 BC_

* * *

**ANNABETH** walked with Piper, listening with an idle ear as her friend chattered on about who was courting whom, Lady Constance was going to have a baby and, "Did you know that Lord Constantine and Lady Margaret got divorced last month?"

"Oh, how awful," she murmured. She only vaguely remembered Lady Margaret; she and some lady friend of hers kept whispering about whether or not she was infertile as she wasn't with child, whenever they thought her back was turned and she couldn't hear them. Once, one of them had suggested a surrogate to bear him a child. She had had to conciously restrain herself from punching Margaret.

Rumors like that had begun to spread like wildfire. She should have expected something like this to happen, and she shouldn't let them make her too upset. So long as she and Percy were doing this on purpose, it didn't matter what anyone else thought.

It didn't stop the pangs in her chest whenever she thought of it though. It was only made worse by the fact that she was still terrified at the idea of doing anything physically intimate with him. Just the idea!

Though, at the same time, there was a strange appeal in the idea too . . .

"And that's not all!" Piper's eyes were sparkling in the way they did whenever she was excited over something—or scheming something like putting someone's hands in warm water (Leo had attempted to murder her). "Lady Margaret is getting married— _again—_ to Senator Augustus!"

"Now, that  _is_ interesting," she said as her mind tracked toward the Odyssey . . . Odyssus' wife had been really clever, since she tricked him into getting annoyed that their bed was movable. He had proved he wasn't someone in disguise . . . That was what happened, right? She hadn't heard the story since she was a girl.

"You're not listening to me, are you?" She grumbled. "You've got that distant quality in your voice, and that look in your eyes . . ."

She froze. Out of the corner of her eye, she had seen a shadow twist in a way that reminded her remarkably of whenever Nico manipulated the shadows. But it couldn't be . . . he was incredibly subtle about it, and he was only seen when he  _wanted_ to be seen. And he had made it clear he didn't want to have anything to do with her since Bianca died. He and Luke and Thalia.

She spun around, but no one was there. Or, at least, visible to her eye.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She turned ahead again, her eyebrows furrowing together. "I just thought . . . never mind." She shook her head.  _Had Nico been there, standing hidden in the shadows?_  The thought made her feel a bizarre mixture of security and resentment.

But he couldn't be- surely he would announced himself. Was she going insane? Or had she just imagined things again? But no, she was pretty sure that was real . . . but why would Nico allow it to be seen? Was it even Nico?

She felt like she was on the edge of a cliff suddenly- and a single poke to the small of her back would cause her to fall down.

"Okay," Piper's drawl drew her out of her thoughts. It was obviously she didn't fully believe her. "Anyway, apparently, there have been rumors of another revolt in Tarentum . . ."

The uneasy feeling stayed with her throughout the day.

* * *

"You've been distracted all day," Percy observed as she wheeled to a halt in front of him. She dropped to the ground, stretched out on her back, and attempted to catch her breath. "Is something wrong?"

She turned her head, startled by the uncommon display of concern over her welfare. Normally, he was Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows along with a fine dose of smirks and sarcasm during these training exercises. Never concerned or worried. Usually, he was forcing her to do more even when she was so tired she thought she would be unable to move. Although somehow she always did, and she never injured herself. Ached, yes. Felt a tiredness that went beyond exhaustion. But never injured herself beyond a few scrapes and bruises.

She sighed. Why must he be so enigimatic?

"No— yes." Why not? His eyebrows drifted up his forehead. "Yeah, something's wrong." She sat up. "I think."

He lowered himself until he sat back to back with her and his head rolled back against her shoulder. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. She could smell him . . . and his eyes were so green. Who knew a man could have such pretty eyes? "Want to tell me about it? I'm a good listener."

She almost snorted in derision, but something held her back. He  _was_ a good listener, whether she would admit it out loud or not. He didn't really talk a lot, not like some of the other gossips in court, and whenever he talked, people generally tended to listen. And he read. Though not as much as she would have if she had the ability. It made her wonder how much he was influenced by all those opposing opinions, since she had never really heard him tell anyone about his own personal ones.

However . . . she was just so tired of wondering this, if they will always hate her. He probably would have something to say. Probably. Maybe. Possibly. She didn't know. But it couldn't hurt to try, right?

"Do you think Nico'll always hate me? Luke too? And Thalia?"

He didn't answer for a moment, though his spine stiffened then relaxed. She couldn't read his expression, as he had lifted his head.

Then he exhaled a gusty breath, as if he just made a life-altering decision or something

"To be honest, I really don't know them well enough. Nico strikes me as one who can hold a grudge for a long time, so I doubt it'll be easy to get him to forgive you. Or even if he  _will_ be able to forgive you; there's a reason it's not for those who are weak of heart.

"Thalia and Luke though . . . I just don't know. There's no logical explanation for the way they've ostensized you. Not really. Reyna says you took charge suddenly, that it was like you were a different person. But they shouldn't still hold that against you- it's been four full moons. I've heard people don't like change, and you  _are_ changing into a different person, Annabeth. A better one. You're clever, and you know how to fight. I know you definitely didn't know how to do the latter, as for the former . . . well, I didn't know you when we were younger. Maybe they just don't like the idea of change. Men are funny that way."

She had never,  _ever_ heard him speak so much at once. He was usually more quiet. To have him speak in such a monologue . . . and he really  _did_ have a way with words.

"The way you talk," she began, fully intending to tell him her thoughts. "When you really talk, and not just a sentence or two. You sound like a king."

He chuckled. "I guess that's a good thing. I'm  _supposed_ to be king one day."

She allowed her head to fall back against his. "I never really thought of it that way before."

"Most people don't, I think. I guess I just have a way of thinking outside the box."

She studied the ground. The grass made her legs itch, or maybe that was just the bugs in the dirt. She couldn't be sure. She didn't really care; she was done with panicking over frivolous things.

"How come you're so cheerful whenever you train me? It's like you're purposely trying to wind me up . . ." Then she pondered over what she just said. "Wait, are you trying to teach me to ignore my irritation and focus on beating you? Is that why you're so . . . sassy?"

"Sassy?" He turned his head and his eyes met hers. "I'm not  _that_ sassy. Well, most of the time." He amended after she raised an eyebrow. His smile turned into a grin. "I knew you would figure it out eventually. Emotions are a good guide, but you don't want them to rule your actions, especially since you're a ruler. And if you're in the heat of a battle . . . Or in general, really. A good friend of mine told me that if your actions are not thought out, every single one of them, then they are guided by impulse; you are cultivating reflexive behavior, and since you are cultivating reflexive behavior, then you are no better than a slave, because it leaves you at the mercy of appetite, sense, or circumstance."

Suddenly, she  _saw_ him. His eyes. They were so bright, so  _radiating,_ they made him look like he was on fire. And she knew, she  _knew._ She knew he was the king she wanted to follow- the  _only_ man she  _would_ follow.

And . . . she wanted to learn. She wanted to learn so  _bad._ She wanted to be able to read and write and learn things for herself, because she wanted to, and not have to rely on someone else. She wanted to read Aristotle's own works, and Plato, and Oedipus the King and the Iliad and everything else she had heard other people talk about. She wanted to  _learn,_ so much that maybe, just maybe, she would kill.

She wanted to be able to stand with him on equal footing. She was tired of being weaker; physically and mentally. She wanted to be  _strong._

"Annabeth?" She blinked. When had Percy rotated his body so that he was in front of her? "Are you all right? You look like you're attempting to throw a dagger at that tree with your eyes. And your hands keep clenching."

She shook her head to clear her mind.

"Yeah, fine. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

She couldn't tell him . . . she didn't want to bother him more, and she  _knew_ he would teach her even if he didn't want to. Because he was just that way. He was too . . . honorable? Loyal? She didn't know. But she did know he would teach her anyway if she told him- would insist on it really. And she didn't want to distract him even more.

"Nothing. Come on, let's get back to it." She pushed herself up. "We're not going to get anything done sitting here all night long." She sank into a defensive pose, watching as he stood as well. She had learnt not to offer a hand up— he usually flipped her on her back.

"No, we're not." He agreed.

She threw the first punch before he even got properly steadied on his feet, and managed to make him stumble back a bit. His eyes reflected strangely in the odd light, and he lifted his hands up in a 'X' formation over his chest.

_You're fast. If you manage to get in a few hits before they realize what's happening . . ._

"You might just win." She whispered out loud to herself, and launched herself at him, throwing a uppercut at the front of his neck. She couldn't afford to fight honorably in a fight.

Percy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly and he ducked, his hands reaching up to grab her arm, but she whipped it back just as fast. He sumersalted off to the side and extended his leg, obviously intending to trip her up. She sprang back and pulled her arms up to her chest, sinking down into a crouch. He straightened a little, his eyes locked on hers like he was trying to analyse her weakness.

_If I'm weaker than he is physically, then I should use his strength against him. But how?_

"Use your core- your center." She wasn't sure if she was remembering something he had said long ago, or if he just told her it now. However, she widened her stance a little and crossed them in front of her chest. He took a step closer to her, like he was walking on thin ice and he was testing it. She felt a certain thrill run through her at the thought he was taking her seriously.

And then he was moving forward, his steps sure and confident, like he was an adder or a ghost, picking up speed and momentum. She stopped thinking. Instinct took over.

As he flew by, his hand stretched out; she grabbed his bicep and his wrist. Using his momentum, she yanked down as hard as she could. A yell escaped his lips as his feet slid and he crashed toward the ground. She jumped on him as soon his back hit the ground, straddled his waist, and placed her arm over his neck, blocking him from getting up and dug her other elbow into his chest.

She coughed, her heart still racing as what she had accomplished finally registered in her mind. He stared up at her with round eyes, his mouth open in a little 'O'.

"You'd be dead by now if I were an enemy." She finally said after a few more heartbeats.

Then he laughed.

"I have no idea what you just did, but that was amazing." His eyes seemed to dance in the moonlight. "Congratulations, you've beaten me once out of about a million times."

She moved off of him, her chest swelling with something that felt like hot air. She grinned and held her hand out.

He took it.

"That's an accomplishment."

"It is indeed."

He yanked. She yelped as her feet slipped on the ground and she tumbled to the ground. Percy instantly was on top of her, a grin on his face as he pinned her down by pressing his arm against her neck- the same position she had been in just a few heartbeats ago.

"Haven't I told you? You have to always,  _always_ be on guard."

She glared up at him. "Seriously? You couldn't let me have  _one_ victory?"

He tilted his head, like he was considering her question. "Nope. Not until you actually do it properly."

"I hate you sometimes. I really, really do."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I hate you sometimes too."

She laughed. Their argument was so absurb it was ridiculous. "What a strange couple we are," she said.

He rolled off of her, but didn't stand up. She propped herself up on one elbow to face him.

"Yeah." He agreed after a few moments. He stood. "I need to get some sleep before the Senate meeting tomorrow." Then he yawned so widely she thought his jaw would pop out. "Definitely need to get some sleep. Night, Annabeth."

She watched as he waved a little and walked up the steps to the palace. She could practice some more, but she was getting kind of tired, and she probably should try to catch up on her sleep.

"Wait for me!" She called out, jumping to her feet. He turned around and she jogged up to him, jumping two steps instead of one. "I should catch up on my sleep too."

"All right. Stay as quiet as you can though- we don't want to wake anyone up."


	18. Capvt XVIII: The Storm Inside

 Capvt XVIII: The Storm Inside

 Annabeth   
Summer, x176 BC

* * *

**PERCY**  slammed the box down in front of Annabeth with a loud bang, causing her to jerk up from her half-awake state. “Always be aware of your surroundings.”

 “Ugh,” she muttered, slumping back over his desk and quite probably smearing black ink all over her face and arms. She didn’t really care how ridiculous she looked: she was so  _tired._ Maybe staying up all night the last three nights hadn’t been the best idea, training past her breaking point . . . though how  _Percy_ was as bright and chirpy as ever was beyond her. 

Something  _cold_ and wet dribbled its way down her back, and she jerked up with a scream. Her arms flailed out in a (mediocre) attempt to shield herself against her assailant— 

Percy folded his arms over his chest, scowling. 

“You really  _are_ horrible at self-defense.”

 Steam felt like it was going out her ears in two impressive clouds. “You. Are the single. Most annoying. Person. In this country.”

 He rolled his eyes. “You’re getting repetitive; and if you’re going to insult me, at least control your temper.” 

“I don’t—“ she spluttered at him and waved her hand around wildly. His eyebrows rose slowly, and she narrowed her eyes. He woke her up: no one woke her up unless they had a death wish, or if they were Piper.  _Now prepare to die_. “I do  _not_ have a temper. If it’s anyone who has a temper, it’s you.”

 Something dark flashed behind his eyes; dark and frosty, and she suddenly felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped down her back. She suddenly felt wide awake and not half asleep. Had she finally gone too far? As quickly as it appeared though, the emotion dissipated; however, she noticed there was a tale-tell clenching of his jaw. He began to pace in small circles in front of the desk, his strides short and jerky. Maybe another sign of anger?

 “Yes, you do.” He said, tone hard, as he stepped in stopped in front of her. She felt like a deer caught in the hunter’s trap, with the way his eyes seemed to bore into hers. Yes, he did have a temper. She could see it in the way his eyes seemed to pitch and swirl, like there was a storm inside of him.

 She dropped her gaze to her hands. She was clenching them together so tight that her knuckles were white: bloodless.

 “Annabeth, look at me.” His voice was very level and controlled, but that made it only worse. She could hear the danger in it, and she was so scared. Her stupid, big mouth had gotten her into trouble again. Her stupid mouth and her stupid temper.

 His hand suddenly seized her chin and forced her head up. Her heart pounded underneath her chest and the blood in her body rushed into her head. He was sitting on his desk now, disregarding the reports from the legions, using his freehand as a stabilizer. His eyes seemed to drift all over her face, and she tried to keep it schooled. She didn’t want him to know she was scared: that was dangerous.

 “ _You_ ,” he muttered, “Are insufferable and irrational. Not a good combination either, especially for a future Caesar.” 

He let go of her chin. She didn’t exactly shuffle in her seat or drop her gaze, but she felt like she was trying to curl into herself a little. Maybe she would have a good blubbering later.

  _Something greasy and slimy going down her neck—_

 She forced the image back. Stupid,  _stupid_ girl. It was typical of her to have an overactive imagination whenever she was even remotely frightened of Percy.

 “ _I’m_ not the future Caesar,” she reminded him sharply. “You are.”

 He began to pace again, and she noticed that his hands were twitching by his sides.

 “And  _you_ are my wife,” he said, whirling around and flinging his hand out in her direction. This time, she couldn’t retain the flinch— _was he going to hit her?_ —but luckily, he either ignored it or didn’t notice it. “Gods, Annabeth. I  _cannot_  be the Caesar if not even my wife is on my side. How in Hades will I be able to take charge of a kingdom if I’m arguing with you like this all the time?”

 “We are not—”

 “Yes, we are!” He raised his voice, not quite shouting, but not entirely calm either. He pulled a chair out roughly and dropped down into it, burying his head into his hands. He was tugging on his hair for a moment, and she forgot how to breathe. He wouldn’t . . . he wouldn’t hurt her, right? He had said he wouldn’t hurt her, or force her against her will. Well, actually, he hadn’t: but his actions implied it, especially after that wedding night.  

 Slowly, he raised his head out of his hands and took several deep breaths before he opened his eyes.

 “This isn’t working,” he muttered. She didn’t know exactly what he was talking about: him trying to train her or their marriage . . . “This is . . . oh dear Gods, I don’t even know how many times we’ve argued this week alone. I’ve lost count.”

 She didn’t exactly relax, but she didn’t feel so terrified anymore. His eyes still reminded her of a raging sea, but she didn’t exactly sense any tense anger inside of him. If anything, he was more sad, and maybe tired too.

 “P-Percy.” She cursed at her stutter, then tentatively reached out to touch his shoulder, letting her hand float in the air midway. His eyes rose to meet hers. “It’ll be all right in the end. We’re in this together, remember? Yes, so I  _may_  have a temper, but I’m not a quitter, and I don’t think you are either. We can make this work out somehow; we have to. I don’t want to end up hating you, and I don’t think you want end up being miserable all your life because you didn’t try hard enough.” 

“But—”

 She took a risk, a gamble, and placed her hand on his shoulder. His voice choked off and his eyes slowly rotated so that he could stare at the place where her hand rested.

 “In it together,” she reminded him. His eyes met hers again, almost shyly this time, and she tried to smile at him. “We can both try a little harder.”

 She dropped her hand, but he caught it in his. A strange, but not unpleasant, sensation went through her, a sort of warmth and a fluttering in her stomach. It, the feeling, reminded her of that night, just after he had been flogged.

 “I’m sorry.”

 She shook her head and couldn’t help but laugh a little.

 “Don’t be. It’s not your fault; or at least, not entirely your fault. Let’s just try a little harder.”

 There was something thoughtful in his expression, but she couldn’t name what it was yet. In a way, she was a little scared of it, whatever it was.

 “Most of the time, you are insufferable and irrational.” She already felt the glare form on her face, and he must have seen it because he chuckled a little. “But, sometimes, you say something quite reasonable.”

 They didn’t say anything for a while. She assumed he was thinking hard about something, since he was making quite a few interesting faces. They were fascinating actually, the expressions he made. His eyebrows would lift into the air, and then they would furrow together and then he made a face like he was sucking on a lemon. He would frown, then smile, and his nose would scrunch up and his eyes would brighten with some hidden spark then—

  “I  _can_ teach you how to curb your emotions. Well, at the very least, I  _should_ be able to train you so that you won’t blurt out the first thing you think of when your temper gets the better of you.”

 She felt like she had been slapped with a fish. A big, slimy, stinky fish.

 “What?” this time she wasn’t sure if her incredulous tone was out of outrage or shock. He was already losing sleep teaching— _training_ , there was a difference between the two—her how to fight; how to defend herself. Now he was offering to teach her how to control her temper? Well, what little temper she had, of course. But why? There had to be a motive behind his kind actions. No one just  _did_ stuff like that out of the goodness of their heart. Not for her, at least. What next, he would offer to teach her how to read or write?

 His face twitched. 

“Must I repeat myself?” His tone seemed a little more formal, and she wasn’t quite sure if she should laugh at it or roll her eyes. “Annabeth, honestly,” he said more naturally. “I’m not going to bite.”

 She hesitated, then nodded slowly. Well, it wasn’t like it would hurt her any way, and having at least a basic control on her temper may be useful later on. She didn’t— _wouldn’t—_  expect him to keep his promise once it became too taxing. He was already doing too much for her, far more than anyone else had ever done for her, even Thalia or Luke.

  He smiled widely at her approval, and she tried not to stare at him. He had more mood swings than a girl did at her time of the month! Seriously, how?  _How_? Where was the pattern in them; the, the—

 “Great!” He was practically  _oozing_ with enthusiasm as he clapped his hands together. Moody. She should call him Moody. “Okay, close your eyes.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “Close your eyes: you just implied you will  _listen_  to me, at least in regards to your lessons. Remember?”

 She contemplated the idea of rubbing salt the next time he got an open wound, and decided to use it later possibly. His smug tone was infuriating.

 “I feel like this exchange is rather one-sided.” 

He shrugged. “You can always teach me about Greece. I know a little bit about Sparta because of my mater, but that’s it.”

 She tilted her head then shrugged. Teaching him Greek Culture wasn’t what she had been talking about—it was the conversation—but she figured it would help pay off some of the debt she owed him for being so kind. It wouldn’t be nearly enough, but she knew, one day she would be able to pay him back, all of it, somehow. She was a person of honor.

 “Okay.” She consented.

 “Now, close your eyes.” His tone was soft and alluring, and she watch him perch himself on the desk again. This time, his eyes were calm and . . . happy? Moody it was then. “I’m not asking you to go muck a stall, so stop making face at me and close your eyes.”

 She narrowed her gaze, then let her eyelids fall over her eyes.

 “You’re breathing too fast.” His voice was no louder than a murmur. “And you’re too tense. Come on, slow down. In, out, in, out . . .” She found herself adjusting her inhales and exhales to his voice. Every time he said  _in,_ she inhaled, and every time he said  _out_ , she exhaled. Eventually, her thoughts calmed down until she had sunken into a sea of black and the only thing she heard was his deep voice.

 “Good,” he said encouragingly. “You’re done now.” She pulled away from the sea of darkness and rubbed her eyes, feeling like she had just woken up. His lips peeled apart into a smile.

 “That’s it?” She asked. 

 “For now.” He replied.

* * *

 

A dark shadow fell over her, but Annabeth didn’t look away from the fire. She knew who it was.

 “Annabeth?” the voice sounded hesitant. She drained her cup of tea and sat it down on the little plate, allowing it to make a loud, clanking sound in the otherwise silent chamber.

 “Yes?” she replied, making sure her tone was dry. She didn’t want to let the person know how heart her heart was pounding or how much she wanted to scream and punch the older woman. She rolled her head back and locked her gray eyes with that icy gaze. “What is it, Thalia?”

 Thalia swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

  She clenched her jaw so tight she thought her teeth would break and dropped her gaze to her hands. Her dark medallion, the symbol only  _she_ could see, the symbol of her enslavement to be the gods’ champion, stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin.

 “For what, exactly?” she asked, keeping her voice low. Thalia looked scared, and she bit back a bitter smile. Maybe Percy had a point about keeping her emotions locked up; it was so much easier to keep her tone calm and to stay rational. A deadly combination, after all. “Ignoring me for these past two months? Being an idiot? Not teaching me how to defend myself? Is it something I  _don’t_ know?”

 Thalia’s face fell; she clenched her jaw, but there was a suspicious brightness in her eyes. “I know, Annie. I know, I’m sorry. I don’t have an excuse. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately . . .” she shook her head, but Annabeth noticed she had run her hand across her abdomen. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness or anything, but I just want you to know I’m sorry, and I’ll always watch your back.” She stood.

 Annabeth sighed and closed her eyes. She was so sick and tired of all this. She just wanted things to go back to normal. “I forgive you,” she said heavily. What was the point in holding a grudge?

 “Wait, what? You do?” asked Thalia, sounding both astounded and happy. “Really?”

 She flipped her head back, but she felt her lips twitch slightly. “You never appealed toward my pride Thalia, and I can’t hold a grudge for anything else. Not like Nico.”

 Thalia’s arms flung around her neck, and she flinched. The older woman pulled away just as quickly, her eyes flashing with concern.

 “Wait, are you all right, Annabeth? Is there—”

 “I’m fine!”

 “Are you sur—” 

“Thalia!”

 Thalia stared at her long and hard, like she was trying to see into her mind and figure out her sudden tension, then she nodded reluctantly and tossed her head. Annabeth didn’t have the heart to even muster a glare.

 “Okay, I believe you. But I’m here if you need anyone to talk to. Promise.”

 She wanted to rip her insides up and pretend they didn’t belong to her when she saw how Thalia perked up again. In essence, she was lying to her friend, because she  _knew_  very well that she was  _not_ fine; in fact, she was far from being ‘all right’. She didn’t  _feel_ like herself any more, she was different. She had— _was_ —changing, and she didn’t know if it was good for her health, or if these changes inside of her were going to be her downfall.

 “I will,” she said, forcing a smile on her face. Thalia gave her a one-armed hug then she walked away.

 

 


	19. Capvt XIX: Ad Infintium

Capvt XIX: Ad Infintium

Annabeth  
Summer, x176 BC

* * *

 

 **HER**  lungs had already begun ache, but Annabeth couldn't allow herself to float up the clear water to breathe. Not yet. She had to stay down. She had to break her previous record. She  _would not_  be satisfied until she broke her record.

She curled herself into a fetal position, pulled her knees up to her chest and hooked her arm around them. There.  _N _ow_  _she should be able to resist the urge to kick or propel herself up. She raised her head and squinted through the water, at the sunlight. She could hear Piper and Thalia's muffled shrieks of laughter and the sound of arms slapping against water.

_Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five . . ._

She only had to stay down for fifteen more 'beats. She had . . .

 _Oh, bugger._ She thought as she abruptly let go of the air bubble in her mouth. She watched the bubbles of air float up with an almost lazy eye. Her lungs had begun to burn, like they were on fire and she had to get up-- 

_NO OXYGIN._

The thought seared through her consciousness, like burning fire in the sky. She released herself from the ball and swam to the surface as quickly as she could, gasping when her head broke through the water, and heaved deep gulps of air. It was a queer sensation, being out of breath without her heart pounding underneath her chest. She had gotten used to panting, gasping, and heaving for air after she finished her laps around the training arena.

"You were down there longer this time," Piper commented, swimming over to her side with Thalia right behind her. "Almost too long, actually. How did you get so proficient at holding your breath underwater?"

_Since Percy decided to torture me under the façade of teaching me how to fight._

"Practice," she answered instead. She wrung her hair out, ran her fingers to get out any bad tangles, and began to braid the damp locks over her shoulder. "What's on our agenda today?"

She almost missed the startled glances the two women traded with each other; but she managed to look up in time to see them. Annabeth slowly lifted her left eyebrow-the  _only_ eyebrow she could raise, she had no idea how Percy did it-and tilted her head to the side.

"Agenda?" said Thalia. "That's an impressive  _verbum_." She grinned cheekily at Annabeth, but Annabeth wasn't particularly impressed by the sudden switch from Greek to Latin. She'd been doing that a lot more lately with Percy, speaking in Latin instead of Greek.

"Have you been listening to Aristotle?" Piper added, her voice soft and gentle, but there was an underlining layer of  _something_  that made her want to answer . . . like she  _had_  to answer. Annabeth scowled. Was she using that sorcery again? The one that compelled her to talk?

"No, I have not. I'm not allowed an education in Greece, remember?" Instantly Annabeth regretted snapping at Piper when her eyes became bright with tears. It wasn't their fault: it was her father's, and his excuse was mediocre at best. As if not having an education would  _protect_ her! If anything, it would make her more vulnerable. "Wait, Piper. I didn't mea-"

"No, don't." Piper cut in. "Don't apologize." She glanced at Thalia, but the other looked away with a small frown on her face. Annabeth frowned,  _But why would she say something like. . .?_ "Nico's never been happy about your lack of education. I never really saw his point until recently. It's really not fair that a slave gets an education, while a princess doesn't. It really doesn't make sense on a rational level. And I never questioned it."

Annabeth tried not to stare. Her lack of education was something they never discussed, because there really wasn't anything to say about it. Her father's will was the way. Yes, it was unfair, especially since all of her peers had at least a basic level of education-even Piper and Thalia-but that was the way it was. She had learned to accept it, if grudgingly.

"Okay then," she intoned. Piper stared at her, and she didn't even have to decency to pretend otherwise. Thalia had a scowl on her face, but there was some strange emotion in her eyes -uncertainty, maybe- as she studied Annabeth. Was she some kind of animal on display now? It wasn't like she was about to go rapid and attack them . . . right?

Annabeth suddenly felt exposed. She crossed her arms over her bare chest and sunk down into the water a little lower. She never had been particularly fond of being the center of attention, even when she had been a little girl, and that feeling had only escalated since she married Percy.

She  _wasn't_ going to attack Thalia or Piper. But on the flipside, maybe she was becoming unstable. Maybe she would attack them? If that was the case, then Percy shouldn't be teaching her how to fight. Really fight. Now he had begun to teach her not just how to dodge or block a punch, but how to throw a punch, how to find weaknesses in someone else's defense.

"Annabeth?" She looked up and saw . . . wait, she was pretty sure it wasn't normal to see three Thalias. Or was that four? "Annabeth, how are you feeling? You're looking a little pale."

She shook her head. She was just being stupid. She wasn't unstable; and she  _had_ to learn how to defend herself properly. Thalia's eyebrows narrowed and she took a step forward.

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "Don't worry about me." She added with a smile. Thalia tilted her head, a frown forming on her face. 

"I don't think I can help that, Annabeth."  She said and Piper nodded in agreement. "You're the annoying little sister I never had."

Was that a compliment or an insult?

"Uh, thanks? I think." Thalia's lips twitched slightly and Annabeth waded back up to the water's edge. She grabbed the towel and the toga she had dropped by the water's edge and wrapped the former around her body. The temperature was dropping.

"I need to get back," she informed them. The bottom of the sun was just brushing against the pine trees, which meant that a senate meeting was going to start soon. She never said anything, but she liked to observe the proceedings and let Percy do all the talking-or mediating. She dropped her towel on the rock and pulled her toga over her head (she hadn't untied the knot).

"We'll go with you," Piper offered then grunted as she swam back to the shore. Annabeth stared as the older woman attempted to swim  _onto_ the land, but the water was too shallow. "I told Grover I'd help with the sheets."

Thalia rolled her eyes and muttered something about "compassion", "biting in the podex" and "don't tell me what to do". It wasn't very complimentary, whatever she said.

She followed them anyway.

* * *

The curtains fluttered in the summer breeze as she walked through the forum **.** The temperature had dropped again, to the point where she had needed to grab a light coat to stay warm. Such strange weather . . . one moment, so hot and humid it made her hair frizz and stick to her skin, the next cold with little white flakes falling out of the sky and covering the ground.

"Annabeth?"

She stifled a shriek as she spun around, reflectively reaching for the dagger she kept hidden in the folds of her stola. A tall man with blond hair stands in front of her, left eyebrow cocked. She recognized him by the ugly scar on the right side of his forehead, and the tension drained out of her.

"Oh, it's just you." She muttered.

"Just me?" he repeated. His features twisted into a strange expression. "I feel so special."

"You know what I mean." She crossed her arms over her chest. "How did you find me?"

"I saw you."

"Saw me."

"Walking. Well, I've been looking for you for the last couple of days too."

She scowled. Looking for her? He obviously hadn't looked for her very hard since she had seen him at least a hundred times in the past week, even though he never talked to her anymore.

"Well, good for you," she snapped. She began to walk toward the direction of the Senate. "Now excuse me. I need to get to a meeting with the-"

A rough, calloused hand wrapped around her bicep, impeding her from stepping forward. Her heart leapt into her throat as her gaze jerked up to meet his.

"Unhand me," she demanded quietly. His jaw tightened, and she remembered how much he hated being commanded by women. "Now Luke. I don't want to call the guards."

He studied her for a moment, then he released her. She stifled the urge to rub her bicep and instead folded her arms over her chest. Why was he holding her up? Didn't he realize she was already pushing it on time with the senate?

"What do you want?"

He dropped his gaze to her shoulder, but just as quickly looked up again.

"I just wanted to say that I do not blame you anymore."

She blinked. Blame her . . .? What had she done  _now_? Why would he have something to blame her again? "What?"

He lifted his chin and the look in his eyes . . . a half cycle ago. A half cycle ago it would have made her feel like she was a bug. Now it made her hands clench her arms in anger. He was looking down on her. She knew he was. She hated that.  _Hated_ it. Why was it so hard to earn his respect? How had she never noticed how condescending he was before?

"I forgive you."

"What?" she repeated.

"For when you allowed that slave girl to die," he clarified. She stared at him. "You know, Nico's sister. You let her die without trying to save her. I understand you were not in your right mind at the time because of the bloodshed we had witnessed during the Gladiators, and that's all right. Plus, you and Perseus had just married so you were still adjusting to your role as his wife."

Blood rushed into her head. Something hot formed inside of her chest. She couldn't  _believe_ his audacity . . . how  _dare_ he say there was something to forgive when it should be the other way around. He should be the one crawling back on hands and knees, begging for  _her_ forgiveness. He had  _no right_ to be angry with her.

". . . so I forgive you, though it will not be so easy to earn Nico's clemency."

She wanted to slap him. She wanted to slap him  _so bad._ How arrogant could he be? No, who in Tartarus did he think he was? He turned his back on her when she had needed it the most. She had needed his support then. He had  _promised_ he would stay with her, thru thick and thin, and he had abandoned her.

So why . . . why would he act as if he was not the one at fault? What was he even thinking? No, he wasn't thinking. It wasn't his fault. Nothing was  _ever_ his fault. He was a man, and men where never the ones at fault. He was a man and she was a woman, and that was the bottom line of it. She was useful only for birthing children and looking pretty. She couldn't be smart. She couldn't fight. She couldn't read or write. She never had the  _privilege_ to realize she could be any of them. Because she was a woman, and woman were inferior.

Women were supposed to get married by the time they reached their fifteenth cycle into a higher ranking family. They couldn't be intelligent. They were not allowed to defend themselves. They were the property of a  _man._ Just like an elevated slave.

How had she never seen it before?

Nico had always seen it. He always tried to talk to her about it, but she had just waved him off because . . . why? Why had she waved him off? Why had she never realized it until now?

Piper may have caught on to it as well. She had always been outspoken about a woman's rights whenever she thought it was safe to do so. But she never listened to her either.

And Percy . . . despite all his faults, he had been the one to help her, teach her how to defend herself. He had been the one who managed to turn her world upside down and on fire. He had been the one to destroy her equilibrium.

Why was there so much . . . so much  _prejudice?_ Why couldn't a woman be considered equal to a man?

 _It's not fair,_ she thought.

 _Life's not fair. Get used to it, before you get hurt._ Her stepmother's voice admonished, bouncing through her skull. With a startling clarity, she remembered that day. That day when her father had told her she was to be married to the Heir of Rome. She remembered how much she screamed and ranted at him, about how life was unfair, and then how her stepmother had taken her to her room afterward and helped her bathe.

She took a deep breath and counted to ten.  _Revenge is a dish best served cold. You do things you regret in anger._

"All right," she said tersely, and Luke's anxious face split into a smile. She clenched her jaw against the urge to say something along of the lines of "not that you deserve it". She  _wouldn't_. She  _would_  regret it later. She was  _not_ going to make the same mistake twice. "Excuse me, Luke. I need to get to a Senate Meeting."

She didn't wait for his response. Her thoughts stewed the back of her head. Her white and purple skirts swished behind her, trailing against the ground but she didn't care about the fact that she was getting it dirty.

"Heir Apparent!" the sentry stammered and opened the door. She spared him a nod as she slowed her walk into something that looked closer to a casual stroll.

"My apologies," she said as everyone turned to look at her in surprise. "I was delayed by a sentry." She took her seat by Percy's side, and didn't miss the confused glance he shot her that quickly turned into one of concern.

"We need vias! Paved vias!" One elderly centurion suddenly shouted. His demanding tone reminded her of Luke.  _Men_. Most of them were swines. "We cannot keep trekking around with mud getting on our sandals and drapes!"

"I know, Centurion Aelius. You have told me this for the last fifty assemblies. Believe me, I am working on it."

"Hmpgh. Doesn't sound like you are . . ."

Percy's hand closed around hers, and she automatically intertwined her fingers with his. 

"The process is a tortuous . . ." 

* * *

"Okay, that's the fifth dummy you have destroyed. What happened earlier? You've been brooding since the senate."

She pulled away from the dummy and glared down at the ground. Luke's words jumped into the forefront of her head.  _Not in right mind . . . used to your role as Perseus' wife . . ._ He had talked to her as if she was someone's  _property._ Like she wasn't even a person. The arms of the dummy had been ripped off. She imagined they were Luke's arms.

"Annabeth," Percy drawled. She spun around and took a few steps up to him until they were standing nose to nose.

"Do you think I'm your property?"

"What?" He stared at her like she had just combusted or she was a stranger in her own body. She crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, you're serious about this. No. Of course not. You're your own person. Who told you that?"

She scowled. "It doesn't matter." He raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't!" she insisted.

"Annabeth . . ."

She turned on her heel. She hoped her hair managed to hit his face.

"Besides, it's not any of your concern. And why do I have to tell you everything? I mean, can't I keep something to-"

His hand took her bicep and yanked her to his chest. She flinched, but he didn't let her go. She met his gaze reluctantly, trying to pretend her heart was  _not_ pounding so hard underneath her chest and she didn't feel that strange tingling sensation she always got whenever he touched her. He seemed to be searching for something. His eyes . . . so green. So very,  _very_ deep green-like the sea, just like the sea. It wasn't fair. How could his eyes just push at her resolve? Was he doing some type of sorcery on her? Or was he like Medusa, but instead of turning her into stone he could convince her into telling him whatever he wanted?

"You don't have to tell me you don't want, but I'm concerned. It's obviously getting you wound up."

She dropped her gaze and stared at his shoulders. They were broad. When had they gotten so broad? Or had they always been like that.

"It's stupid."

"It's not."

"I don't want to burden you with my problems."

His jaw tightened and his hand reached out to tilt her chin back. She met his eyes. So  _green_  . . . Just being so close to him was making her dizzy and there was a ringing in her ears.

"You're not a burden, Annabeth. Never."

She bit into her bottom lip.

"Luke," she admitted. His eyes hardened. "I just-he just-ugh. I don't even know how to describe what I feel about him right now. He just-he just walked up to me like a pompous prat and had the audacity to just say he forgave me like I  _deserved_ to be shunned by him and the others! And then he had to go and rub salt in the open wound and say I had to  _work_ at gaining Nico's forgiveness. Like I don't know that! And I just want to wrap my hands around his neck and  _strangle_ him."

"Some people are just that way." Percy responded simply, and she slumped down with a sigh. He let go of her arm. "Unfortunately."

He tilted his head and stared at her. What was he looking at? His eyes brightened and he nearly  _skipped_ away from her. She stared at his back and brought her hand up to rub the place he had grabbed. That sensation, whenever he touched her . . . it wasn't a tingling sensation. It felt more like a living flame.

He came back, holding two swords of different lengths. Silently, he held the shorter one out and Annabeth took it. Why was he giving her a sword? Or was it a long knife? It looked like a long knife. A soft "oomph" escaped from her lips when he let go of it and she realized how heavy it was.

"That's a saber." He informed her, nodding at the sword- saber. "It's a mixture of a knife and a sword and you can use it as a tool, so I figured you would prefer it." She watched as he tossed his sword from one hand to the other with apparent ease. He just gave her a sword. Wait, what?

"Huh?"

His lips twitched up, like he was trying to repress a smile. "It's yours."

". . . What?" Did he really just give her a sword? Well, a saber.

"It's yours."

"It's mine?" she pointed at the sword. Its tip had fallen into the ground. He nodded. "Wait, you just gave me a  _sword._ "

"No. I just gave you a  _saber._ This, right here, is a sword." He held his sword up. She stared at it, and then up at him.

"Why?"

He smiled. "You have way too much natural talent to go to waste, so I'm going to teach you how to fight. I figured it would come in handy eventually. You can run ninety laps and you can fight with your hands well already. So, saber it is then, since you've basically already done all the strength building. No, I'm not changing my mind. No, you don't get a choice in the matter."

She stared at him, her mind going blank. He just . . . gave her a sword. He just gave her a  _sword_ so that she could fight. He gave her a  _sword_ so that she could defend herself. He was already sacrificing his and he just . . . gave her a sword?

"Annabeth? Are you all right?"

But that . . . What where his motives? There had to be a motive. No one just gave up hours of their free time without a motive. Although he technically already gave up two or three hours of sleep already . . . but he had to have a motive. Right? There was just no way . . .

"Annabeth?"

She stared at him. There was no hint of deceit in his eyes or mockery. Just honesty. Pure, simple honesty. There was no way someone could fake that emotion in his eyes so good. He wanted to teach her. He wanted her to be able to defend herself.

_Oh._

Warmth welled up in her chest. He wasn't joking. He wasn't making fun of her. He honestly wanted to help her. He . . . he was incredible.

"Anna-"

She launched herself at him and flung her arms around his neck. He stumbled back a half step then wrapped his arms around her waist. She could kiss him. She wanted to kiss him, right now.

"Well, that's not entirely unwelcomed." He said with a laugh. "It's not every day you have a pretty lady flinging herself on-"

Her lips smashed against his when the urge intensified with each word he said. It was almost entirely an instinct. He stiffened for half a heartbeat then one arm lifted and wrapped around her back. When she pulled away, his eyes were half-lidded. One half of her wanted to laugh when she saw his face, and the other wanted to kiss him again. She could feel a strong pull to kiss him again . . . so, so strong. And she was a little dizzy. Or was she just hot?

"Um . . ." She wanted to stumble back. Had she just made him unable to form a sentence? He opened his eyes fully.  "Is that a "thank you"?"

She nodded. "Yeah. That's a thank you."

He tilted his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. His eyes were so bright . . . "I think I like your thank yous."

She smiled and took a step back. Professional. They had to stay professional. Professional meant no kissing. Oh, she wanted to kiss him again, and again, and again-no! She could kiss him later. Professional. She was here to learn, not kiss her very handsome husband. Could she do both? Oh, she could claim she was learning how to kiss. No. Sword. She had to remain  _in control_ of her hormones for now. No kissing. She wasn't allowed to kiss him until  _after_ they finished training. Then she could kiss him all she wanted.

She walked over to where she had dropped her sword and leaned down to pick it up. When she turned, he hadn't picked up his sword. Instead, he was watching her with a curious light in his eyes.

"So," she began, trying to get her mind to think about the right thing. Not kissing. No kissing. She wasn't allowed to kiss him until  _after-_

Suddenly, his lips were on hers.  _Well, it's all right if_ he  _instigates the kiss._ She wrapped her freehand around his neck and pulled herself closer to him as his hands wrapped around her waist. She felt hot, really, really hot. He pulled away first and rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. Somehow, she had kept her hand wrapped around the saber.

"Aren't we supposed to be training right now?" she whispered, surprised by how hoarse her voice came out. He shook his head.

"I really don't care about training right now."

"Yeah. Me too," she muttered. Then she pressed her lips against his again. 

* * *

**Omake:**

"Is that a "thank you"?" 

"Yeah, that's a thank you." 

"I think you need more practice." 

"AGGGGGH!!! YOU-- YOU JUST DESTROYED THE MOOD!" *stabs with a saber* *Percy dies* "WAIT, NO, I DIDN'T MEAN TO KILL YOU. COME BACK. I NEED MORE PRACTICE. YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE."

*Percy comes back to life* 

"Baby~ I'm aliveeeeeeee!" 

"DON'T CALL ME THAT." *hits with a flying pan*

 


	20. Capvt XX: Serva Me, Servabo Te

**A Crown of Golden Leaves**  
by xXTheDragonRiderXx  
April 2015

* * *

Capvt XX: Serva Me, Servabo Te  
 **Translation:** Save me and I will save you

**Percy**   
_Late Summer, x176 BC_

* * *

**ANNABETH** made him feel strange. The realization came to Percy with an almost startling clarity the next night as he stared up at the ceiling of their chamber, slowly drifting off to sleep. He didn't know what it was about her that made him feel this way, but it was definitely there. He could feel whatever emotions he felt toward Rachel before she died three years ago swell and stir like a storm whenever he was around her.

Maybe the thought should have should have made him worried, but as he rolled over so that he could how the moonlight made Annabeth's hair seem almost silver, he felt much too content and sleepy. No, this feeling was natural to him; in the way that the sky was blue and the world was flat.

Besides, she  _was_ his wife, even though they hadn't met under ideal circumstances or got married by choice. She wasn't really his first  _anything,_ not his first love or first kiss, but she was the one who had stayed, and wouldn't leave him alone. She was the one that  _mattered_ , and by the gods, he would do anything in his power to protect her.

And, as she rolled over so that she was so close that her hair tickled his nose and he could smell the trace of roses, Percy couldn't help but smile and wrap his arm across her shoulders. He wanted to be her hope, her dream . . . he wanted to be everything she needed.

* * *

"AHH!"

The screech and the kick that accompanied it caused Percy to fall off the bed. He sucked in sharply as his back jarred with the impact, more out of surprise than in pain.

"What are you doing on  _my_ side of the bed?" Annabeth's voice was high-pitched and annoying. The blankets had tangled around his legs, but he ignored that as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. He glanced out the window. The sun was high in the sky, and he wondered how they had slept in so late. He shook his head and locked his gaze with hers.

" _Your_ side of the bed? I'm not on your side of the bed—you rolled over last night to my side.  _I_ never kicked  _you_ off the bed though." He leaned over and gingerly rubbed his thigh. It would be black and blue later, he just knew it. "Ow. That  _hurts_."

She didn't look particularly sorry or guilty, but she held a hand out. He ignored it. She was being  _mean_. He wouldn't forgive her so easily— not this time. He would get his apology for once. Uh-huh.

"Stop pouting Percy," she admonished. He pressed his lips into a thin line and watched her pull her hair over her shoulder and weave it in some random pattern.

"I'm not  _pouting_. You just kicked me off the bed."

She raised an eyebrow, then a slow smile spread across her face. "Someone's grumpy in the morning," she sang. It was entirely too cheerful for his taste. Actually,  _everything_ was too cheerful for his face. The birds shouldn't be singing right now, and the sun shouldn't be out. Ugh. Why couldn't he just go back to sleep?

"You're irritating."

She beamed at him. He sniffed. They  _just_ woke up- how could she be so alert and  _cheerful_?

* * *

The meetings with pesky nobles and the Senate lasted until the sun went down and the stars had came out. Percy opened the door slowly and stepped inside, quickly and silently, worried that someone else would come with another complaint.

It wasn't that he was trying to slack off, he just needed a break. He loved Roma, and he considered it his duty, not only as Heir Apparent but as a civilian, for all of his decisions to be in the best interests of Roma. He just hated the nobles and their petty squabbles. And he really wanted to go back to sleep.

He heard the roar of the fire. A chill had begun to set in again, even though it had been so  _hot_ earlier in the day. As he listened more closely for the tale-tell signs of life, he recognized the soft scratching of a quill writing on papyrus.

Instantly his hand drifted down to the hilt of his sword. The only other person who lived here was Annabeth, but she said that she never had a proper education for some reason. That meant some stranger had to be here because she would not be able to write. Perhaps they had found the reports he kept in his secret draw? Or maybe they had cracked his code disguising strategies?

He pulled his sword out of it's sheth slowly so that no one could hear the sound of rock scraping against rockand stepped into the shadows. He edged into the antechamber on the left —they slept on the right— and raised his sword. He inhaled, preparing to confront the man who somehow snuck past the guards at their door,the guards on the ground below the window  _and_ the guards who had been stationed on the edge of the corridor.

He stepped into the archway of the door. The demand of "what are you doing in here?" died in his throat before the first syllable could form. It  _was_ Annabeth. The heath had been lit and the shadows from it danced off her face strangely. She had a scroll unwound and she kept looking back at it nearly every other heartbeat. Her strokes were slow and careful, and she must have worried her bottom lip since there were tiny droplets of blood on it.

Well unless she had a doppelganger, that was Annabeth. But there was no way someone could have the same carbon copy of Annabeth's eyes.

The tension and adrenaline drained out of his body and tilted his head. She was concentrating hard, since she hadn't even heard him come in. She was usually so attuned to her surroundings.

"Annabeth?" he said, announcing his presence. Annabeth's head jerked up, and the quill made a loud, screeching sound that made him wince. And then she swore. He stared at her in shock, wondering if his imagination had decided to make a grand entrance again—Annabeth  _rarely_ curse. Her expression was angry —or was that startled?— enough though.

"You startled me!" her hand flew to her chest, right over her heart. He slid down into the seat in front of her, where she usually sat, and laid his hands in his lap.

"I didn't mean to." That was the closest she would get to an apology from him. "What are you doing?" He added, tilting his head and attempting to look at whatever she had made, but her hand landed on top of the scroll with a dull thud. He met her eyes and- Was she blushing? Yes, she was. He leaned back. "I thought you don't read."

"I don't. Why do you have your sword out?" She pointed at the hilt with the edge of her quill and he glanced down at it.

"No reason." He sheathed it and leaned over the desk

"This is  _private_."

He leaned back and arched an eyebrow in the same way Reyna taught him to when they were younger. She glared at him, her lips pressed together in the way that he knew was her version of defiance. Or maybe she was just frustrated.

"Sometimes I really hate you."

"Yeah I know. I love you too." He muttered and leaned over to read the papyrus she had covered with her hand. He looked up just in time to catch her sticking her tongue out at him. "Mature, Annabeth. Real mature. What is it?" He wanted to know what she was hiding. Most men would probably call it nosey, but he preferred to call it curiosity.

"Just something." She gestured vaguely in the air. He stared at her. He was getting tired of her attempts at evasion. "Oh, all  _right_. Don't laugh at my horrid handwriting." She uncovered her hand, and he turned the papyrus over, a suspicious giddy feeling similiar to the times when he managed to get away with something he knew his mater wouldn't approve of.

"I thought maybe I could learn to read by copying something. I don't think it's working out so well though. I don't recognize any of the characters."

"Letters," he corrected absentmindedly. Her handwriting was slightly childish and underdeveloped, but surprisingly neat. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Not long. I started maybe a few sunrises again."

Definitely neater than he expected in that case. This wasn't the work of a careless student; this was a dedicated scholar's. He glanced up at her, but she had crossed her arms and angled her body to the fire. Her face was set in a scowl. He dropped his gaze to the words on the scroll. She was a good student, he had to admit, and teaching her was enjoyable. Especially when she kissed him as a thank you. . . .

He shook his head and shoved the thought into a tiny box at the back of his mind for later examination. Kissing was perfectly natural for a husband and wife. In fact, it was expected among other things.

 _Bad Percy_ , he scolded himself immediately. Although, it was supposed to be natural to have those thoughts. Especially if she was his wife. Which Annabeth was. Except they hadn't spoken about anything intimate after their wedding night...

"Well, you're on the right track." He remarked, forcing the thought away. He stood and walked around his desk. He sank to the ground, rolled onto the back of his heels and opened the bottom draw. He riffled through the various things he'd saved for sentimental reasons though he'd never admit it. There was a picture of himself, Rachel, and Reyna he had drawn when they were little, and there was a short story his mother had told —then written down— about Pegasus, the flying constellation. He found his chalkboard at the bottom. Amazingly, he still had quite a few pieces of chalk left.

"What's that?" He smiled up at her.

"A chalkboard. I'm going to teach you the Roman Alphabet and how to pronounce the letters."

"You're going to . . . wait, what? I'm sorry, but I think I misheard you."

"Are you having hearing problems?" He asked snidely, and then he smiled the lopsided smile that made her melt. Sure enough, her gaze softened. "No really. I'm going to teach you." He grabbed the parchment and dipped his quill into the inkwell, then realized immediately afterwards that it wasn't cut at a proper 45 angle. He scowled at the writing instrument, thinking  _this is all your fault._ "Well, first, I'm going to teach you how to care for these bloody things." He muttered, then searched in his desk for the small, sharp knife he kept in there specifically for this purpose.

"Okay, so I keep a knife sharp enough for this quill, to cut the edges off . . . like this." He took her hand, and placed it on the knife, adjusting her grip as he did so. Her eyebrows furrowed together. "Now you cut like this—you want it wide enough that the ink will come out, but narrow enough that it's a steady stream and not a flood of stuff. Yeah, like that."

"Percy— what?"

"I'm going to teach you how to read and write. Properly."

She blinked. "I still don't understand."

He stared at her; was she teasing or something . . . ? But no, her eyes were darkened in confusion, and her lips had thinned. "Are you  _really_ this slow?" He asked, then immediately cursed at himself at the callousness of his words. She drew her hand out from his, sucking in a sharp breath. "Sorry," he said quickly. "That was uncalled for— and a falsity. Have you . . ." he hesitated, but there was no real way to ask this question tactfully. "Have you ever had a formal education?"

She looked down, but her cheeks had flushed. He wasn't sure if it was out of anger of embarrassment.

"No. My father thought an education would make me  _dangerous._ " She spat the last word out, as if it were a vile curse. An overwhelming feeling of sympathy bubbled up in him.

"Well, a favorite maxim of my mater's was "knowledge is power"," he studied his fingernails. How did he get so much dirt in them? "I can see what he thought, in a way —you're very quick-witted, even without an education. Power is a double-edged sword: it can be used for evil deeds, or it can be used for the betterment of mankind. Knowledge —power— is not something to be feared; it's a gift."

She tilted her head back, but there was a strange look in her eyes. "You'll be a very fair ruler one day. You're all ready a great leader."

A strange warm feeling swelled at her words, making a smile curve its way on his face. "I think that's one of the greatest compliments I've gotten." He held the quill out, offering it to her again. "So, what do you think?"

She didn't take it immediately. Instead, she pushed herself on the uncrowded part of his desk and he looked up to meet her gaze. It was so intense, her stare. He didn't understand how it could be so intense.

"Percy . . ."

He straightened his back at her tone of voice. She generally only used that tone when she wanted to do something but she was slightly uncertain about it for some reason.

"Yeah?" he breathed. She leaned closer to him. So close that he could smell her fragrance- something flowery and earthy and sweaty. He was pretty sure other men wouldn't find that a scent that smelled good, but he did for some reason. It reminded him of . . . of someone who worked hard, and something else. He liked that.

"Are you  _smelling_ me?" She asked, her eyebrows furrowing together. "Why?"

"I thought I was being subtle about it," he muttered. It was overwhelming how close she was. He wasn't sure he would be able to stop himself from moving forward and pinning her on top of the desk much longer. Especially since she was so  _close._ She had to stop giving him so many mixed symbols. One moment she was edging away from him, the next she was so close that it was like she was practically  _throwing_ herself at him.

"Not really. Though why you haven't recoiled away in disgust is beyond me. I'm still covered in dirt and sweat from earlier."

He squashed the urge to shrug. "I don't really know either. I just like the way you smell. So what do you want?"

"I really want to kiss you right now." She muttered. He was about to say something along the lines of "why don't you?" when she added, "But I also want to know why you're so good to me."

He paused. He didn't understand it himself either. He didn't understand why he wanted to help her- or even why he wanted to protect her so much. Well, he  _defintely_ wanted her to be able to defend herself since there were so many sickos in the ranks who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of her. But it went beyond that- he genuinely wanted to help and support her, to help her become everything she could be. And he knew there was a lot of potential in her. It was so  _there_ and so  _obvious_  to him that he wondered how no one ever saw it before.

"Honestly? I don't know. I just . . . I suppose I just  _want_ to help you. I just  _want_ to be good to you. Do I really need a reason?"

A tiny huff of laughter escaped from her lips as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "No, I suppose you don't. I guess I'm not used to humans actually wanting to be encouraging."

"Which I find stupid." He tried to repress the shudder as he felt her fingers play with some of his hair on the back of his neck. "Everyone needs encouragment and you're . . ." Several words popped into his head, like effuligent and beautiful and different. "You're you."

Her fingers stilled then tapped against his neck. His fingers twitched at the burning, coarsing warmth that seemed to travel through him like fire.

"Annabeth . . . you need to stop that." He warned.

"Stop what?" she asked, tilting her head. There was an innocent expression plastered on her face, but her eyes seemed to dance with laughter.

"Touching my skin. You're driving me crazy."

"It's kind of hard not to touch your skin." She teased. "How do you think I felt when you cuddled up to me last night?"

"I don't  _cuddle._ " He protested automatically, then realized she was diverting the topic. "Wait, is this  _vengence?_ " He found the idea somewhere between terrifying and really, really sexy. "I didn't take you as the type of get revenge."

She shifted herself a little closer to him, until their bodies where flushed with one another and he had to tilt his head back a little as she was higher than he was. "It's rather fun I must admit, but I'm probably torturing myself just as much. You make  _really_ attractive faces."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm."

He fell silent. She was still so close to him . . . did she have any idea what she was doing to him? She must have some idea since he was pretty sure his body gave it away somehow.

She moved forward slowly, and he couldn't prevent himself from glancing down at her lips. His hands lifted and cupped around her face. Her skin was so soft.

"Is this going to be another thank you?" he whispered. His breath caught in the back of his throat when she shook her head and why did his heart just sink?

"This one is because I want to."

He didn't even have time to  _think_ before her hand snaked out, twisted the front of his toga around, and yanked down so hard that their lips crashed. His heart sped up and he was glad he had sat down otherwise his legs would have given out underneath him. She pressed herself even closer to him somehow and he dropped his hand from her cheek to wrap around her waist. He wondered how they had even gotten close enough to kiss willingly, let alone on a semi-dayly basis, then discarded the stray thought. It didn't matter.

She made his head spin. There was no other way to describe her. She made his head spin with all these different emotions and feelings and how much he wanted her but at the same time he didn't want to push her. She made him want to become a better person.  _  
_

One of them pulled away, but he pressed his forehead against hers and kept his eyes shut

He could feel how close they were still. She practically straddled his waist and he could feel her chest press into his every time she took a deep breath.

"Have I mentioned that you make my head spin?" he muttered. She huffed, almost like she was trying to repress her laughter.

"Now you have."

Her fingers brushed against his neck, in a light fluttery touch, and he shuddered.

"Not fair."

"What's not fair?"

He dropped his head to her shoulder and sighed against the side of her neck. He didn't miss the way goosebumps erupted there and he smiled.  _Is this where she's most sensitive?_

"How you affect me physically and yet I can't seem to- umm . . ." He cut himself off just as he realized what he was about to say.  _I can't seem to get you wound up._

"I wouldn't say that." He lifted his head up and studied her face. She quickly averted her gaze to the side and he noticed that her cheeks were tinged with a light shade of pink. "You have no idea what you do to me." She tossed her head back and smirked at him, obviously forgetting about her embarrassment. "I guess I just hide it better than you."

"No way!"

She raised an eyebrow and for a moment, he saw a little bit of himself in her expression. It surprised him, the fact she had picked up one of his habits- and one he used so frequently at that. But when he focused on her eyes, all he saw was fire. Her strength.

Her eyebrows furrowed together. "What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head and smiled. "I just saw something."

She tilted her head and her face scrunched up. He could almost feel her confusion and he wondered if she would make it known.

Instead, she only moved away from him and held up the quill. He blinked.  _How does she still remember that?_ _  
_

"Changed your mind?"

He shook his head. A smile formed on her countenance, and he wondered why she seemed so insecure at times. She had nothing she needed to be insecure about- she was unique the way she was and she should be proud of that.

"Of course not. I really like your thank yous, remember?"

Her eyes seemed to dance in laughter as she leaned into his personal space again- though he didn't mind that at all.

"I'm sure we can arrange something, Heir Apparent."

He smirked. "I'd like that."

Later, when he laid in the bed with her pressed against his side, he wondered  _why_  they never talked about intimate acts or even did them. It was obvious both of them where attracted to the other.


	21. Capvt XXI: The Principle of the Matter

 

Capvt XXI: The Principle of the Matter

**Percy**   
_Late Summer, x176 BC_

* * *

" **TO**  Bi-bli-o." *

"Yeah, that's it! Now write out  _ωαωι*_."

Percy watched Annabeth carefully etch the word in the sand, biting her bottom lip in concentration and muttering the alphabet under her breath in Greek. He looked at the water, then back at her again. He felt a smile tug at his lips at the glower on her face, like she was personally blaming the word for being hard to write. He glanced back at the water. She probably was.

Time for a little reflex training.

He slid into the tepid lake silently, not caring about the fact that he was fully clothed and went under. He kept his eyes open and his mouth shut and waited for a few minutes. He had learned a long time ago that he could hold his breath for an extraordinary amount of time; he never became wet if he didn't want to.

His lungs began to constrict. He began to count in his head to keep his mind away from the tightness in his chest. He had learned that it was harder to stay under longer that way.

"Percy?" a muffled voice called, and he swam up to the surface. He stepped onto the ground. "Where are yo—yack!" She squealed a little when he wrapped his arms around her, completely sodden with lake water _._ "Get off, you wet lump of—"

He tightened his arms around her and smiled against her shoulder. "That's not a very nice way to greet your husband, Annabeth."

"It's not very nice to get your wife soaking wet either. You're  _so_ lucky I decided to wear purple today, instead of white."

He paused for a moment. "What? Why?"

She rolled her head back against his shoulder, a disbelieving look in her eyes. "You don't know that you can see through white?"

Actually, he did, but he still didn't understand why— ... "Oh."

"Yeah.  _Oh_. Now we're both wet and your pater wants us to dine with him this evening."

He stepped away from her, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed . . . and rather curious if he was honest with himself. What  _did_ she look like in soaking wet whites?

"Here, I can dry you off." He offered. Her face scrunched up a little as she turned around to look at him. He decided not to mention that only the back of her toga was wet. She wasn't really soaked.

"You can? How?"

"I'll show you." He smiled briefly, then closed his eyes to concentrate. He used to do this with Reyna and Rachel when they were children, but that had been years ago, long before he even developed feelings for Rachel. He hoped he still remembered how.

A familiar tugging in his gut wakened, and he opened his eyes imagining he was directing the  _presence_  over the wet spots. He imagined he was pulling the water over to him, pulling it off her toga and letting it go into the air with the moisture.

"How did you do that?" she asked, looking over her shoulder like she was trying to find left-over water. He crossed his arms over his chest.

"I don't know. I just willed it away, I suppose." He suddenly felt defensive. "I've always been able to do it."

He shifted under her stare; he shouldn't have simpothned the water off her toga. He should have left it on. She must be thinking something along the lines that he was dangerous, that he needed to be locked up, like that man all those years ago, the one who had healed him after he got a concussion because he was riding a horse and the branch was just there . . .

Her hand was on his right cheek, and he found himself drawn into her eyes somehow. There had to be a explanation for this strange feeling, this need to be her close to her as much as possible. He'd never felt this way before, not even with Rachel.

Why did he just compare her to Rachel?

"Thank you," she said softly. Her lips brushed against his, and his gut did a weird flippity-flop thing. "For trusting me."

He tilted his head. He didn't exactly understand what she meant; after all he didn't really do much. Just dried her off, and that was his fault.

But then again, he really didn't flaunt these strange powers . . .

"Yeah, well. . . ." He shrugged. "You're welcome."

"Come on, let's go."

"Let  _us_ go," he corrected automatically. She rolled her eyes.

* * *

"Perseus, Annabeth." His pater greeted, not exactly cordial but not cold either. Percy nodded in acknowledgment, pushing back all his emotions except for cool indifference into a little dark corner of his mind. "You are late."

"Our apologies, pater," he said calmly as a slave pulled a seat for Annabeth to sit in, and another waited with his head bowed. "We were delayed upon coming here."

His pater nodded and sat at the head of the table. Percy sat next to him, nodding at the slave who pushed his chair in, and Annabeth sat on his side. The food came immediately, and his pater served himself without comment. Percy pulled a bit of stuffed flamingo and a chicken breast over on his plate.

There was a moment of silence.

"Next year will be another Census," his pater commented. Percy nodded and swallowed the chicken. "It would be beneficial for you to do this duty before you become Caesar, Perseus."

He hesitated. "I don't have any intention of becoming Caesar for at least another ten years, hopefully longer." He could have sworn his pater smiled at his words but that couldn't be true. He never smiled, at least not when they were with company.

"I know you don't, and I'm glad. However, my death is inevitable and I want you to be prepared. You're already a very good leader but there is still much you have to learn." Percy nodded and bit into a grape. He felt relieved, oddly enough.

"I still have a lot to learn."

His pater's eyes gleamed. "Indeed you do, especially as your wife is expecting."

Annabeth made a sound like a soft splutter, and he glanced at her. She placed the goblet down on the white tablecloth, the beads on her forehead jiggling with her sharp motion.

"Pardon?" She asked. He looked at his pater.

"Your wife has been eating much this evening; I remembered when your mater was carrying you she ate the same amount as she is." Annabeth pushed the plate of food away gingerly, looking like she was about to sick up. "I had begun to think she was barren as it's nearing five months since I told you my expectations during the Gladiators. I suppose it's all right if she's  _with_ child by the end of the year, even if he is not born yet."

Something exploded. Percy's head swiveled on its axis, and he caught Annabeth's wide-eyed stare ignoring his pater's alarmed shouting in the background. Then she went pale, and her eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me," she muttered, sitting up. "I'm feeling a bit nauseous suddenly. Thank you for your hospitality, Caesar." His pater nodded, and Percy stared at her retreating back. His gut churned and he wiped his hands against the table cloth. He turned to look at his pater immediately after she disappeared from his sight.

"I better make sure she's all right. She's been rather emotional lately."

His pater chuckled. "This is normal for the process Perseus, but go if it puts your mind at rest. I've forgotten how alike you and your mater were."

Percy smiled thinly and nodded his head then he stood and hurried out the door.

* * *

It took him far longer than he expected —or wanted— to find Annabeth. By the time he had found her curled under the archway where he had forced her to use as an obstacle course a few sunrises ago, he had felt that familiar flutter of panic in his chest.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She asked, voice hollow, as he slid down next to her. He cringed.

"I don't know. We didn't know each other well at first, and then I guess I sort of forgot after the Gladiators."

"Forgot. How do you forget having permission to just . . . have your way with your woman?"

He frowned, pretending that her words did not make him feel hurt. He'd never been that way. "I'm not that way, Annabeth. If I were, you would probably be with child by now."

She stiffened, then sighed and her head fell against her knees. "That was uncalled for."

"It was."

"Sorry." She pulled her head up but rested her chin on her knees. Her eyes were distant as she wrapped her arm around her torso in a protective gesture. "I  _do_ want to have children, Percy. But . . . I can't. Not now."

"Why not?" He asked, not angrily but curiously. He looked away from her and pulled one of his legs up against his chest. "I think it would be a natural transition—we're comfortable with each other."

"Yeah, but . . ." he glanced at her hands, which were playing with her robes. "I just . . . I can't." She closed her eyes. "I'm scared, all right?"

He stared at her. "I'm not going to  _hurt_  you, or do anything beyond your comfort level. If you're that worried, you can tie me up or—"

"It's not  _that_ I'm worried about. Isn't it some unspoken pact with you men that you can just . . . share?"

He suddenly felt like he'd stepped into a cool spot. She still wouldn't meet his eyes. "What in Tartarus gave you  _that_ idea? That's  _wrong_. Gods, Annabeth—you're not a prostitute, and I'm  _not_ the type of man who just hands his wife over to some other man. And I've  _never_  believed in marrying more than one woman."

"Really?" She sounded surprised. He nodded then froze as a thought occured to him. Why  _did_ she have that idea in the first place . . . unless . . . she couldn't be, could she? No, that's impossible. Was it?

"Is there something you're not telling me, Annabeth?"

He could see goosebumps on her flesh. "Not in the way you're thinking." She answered after a few moments. He could see the tension in her shoulders. "I'm not a prostitute."

"Then why did you . . ." There was only one other explanation. "Wait, did someone  _rape_ you?"

She shook her head, but her eyes were bright and wet. "No. He didn't r-ra— _that,_ he didn't hurt me. I managed to fend him off. That's why I started training. I  _can't_ let myself be taken advantage of. I won't. And I don't care what the other ladies say; I don't care if it's not proper."

_Other ladies?_ He thought, then remembered the whispers that seemed to follow him whenever he was in court—though at least they had the decency not to say it to his face. Theories about Annabeth being barren. And if  _he_ could hear them, then what must it be like for Annabeth?

"Annabeth . . ."

She turned her head so that her cheek was resting on her knee and her countenance faced his. "Don't, Percy. I don't want your pity. I just want to forget that it almost happened and move on."

Somehow, as if he didn't have complete control of his movements, he nodded. "Okay."

He watched her breath fog in the air, and wrapped his arms over his bare shoulders. When did it get this cold? This really wasn't normal weather for Roma. . . . And how did he  _not_ notice it?

"It's cold," she stated. She sounded surprised. He nodded in agreement. "How did that happen? When I came out it was warm—and humid."

"I don't know . . . this isn't normal."

Her lips twitched. "Obviously."

_"I... I didn't know."_

_"Obviously."_

The memory popped into his mind and he almost smiled. He couldn't believe how much she had changed. Or maybe she had always been this way.

He stood; he would have offered a hand up, but she was already pushing herself off the ground. He figured she wouldn't appreciate his help, especially after the conversation they just had.

"And even if we started being intimate with each other, I won't start showing until Saturnalia at the earliest and your father will know something's up." She sounded a bit defensive and he looked at her.

"I'm not going to do anything you're not comfortable with. You're my friend before my wife, first and foremost, and I'm not going to do anything to shatter that."  _I'm not going to shatter this fragile bond of trust between us. I'm not a slave to my hormones._

"Gratias _,_ Percy." He raised an eyebrow at the sudden switch from Greek to Latin. "You don't know what that means. And . . . I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for. We'll only do this when you're ready."

She looked away, a strange expression on her face. He didn't know what it was exactly. Contentment, surprise? Something else entirely?

_Percy . . ._

He turned around suddenly, looking into the night. What the . . . he knew someone had just called his name, but who was it? That voice was so familiar, like he had heard it in a dream. Or in a dream of a dream. Stranger things have happened.

Annabeth slowed to a halt.

"Percy? Is there something wrong?"

He shook his head, still staring into the gloom. "No. I just thought I heard someone say my name."

"Maybe it's the Wind Spirits," she said, tone contemplating. He met her eyes. "Who knows. Let  _us_ get back inside before we catch our deaths due to cold."

He smiled at the empathsis she put on the correct grammar and quickened his pace. "Yeah. Pater doesn't expect us back so we can retire to our chambers. I'm more tired than I am usually at this time."

Her eyes flashed— _gratitude_ —and she smiled slightly. "I'm tired too."

* * *

 

**Pronouncuation:**  Το βιβλιο (to bi-bli-o) is prononced as toe vi-vli-o. Νανι is prononced as Na-ni.

 

 


	22. Capvt XXII: Only the Beginning

 

Capvt XXII: Only the Beginning

* * *

"Would you care to explain why you have summoned me, pater?" Percy asked after he had rapped on the door and his pater's slave had allowed him to enter. The emaciated man with thinning gray hair bowed as he passed him and entered. Percy tried not to look at him. He  _hated_  how his pater treated people he considered beneath him, and he worried his loathing would show on his face. Percy had learnt long ago that if his opinions were different from his pater's, he was likely to receive a cuff around his head.

He shook his head, banishing the thought, and pulled his white riding gloves a little higher. He wondered how long he would be detained. Jason had told him the legionaries had seen something strange in Tarentum. Then he said that he was going down there to see what was going on with his own eyes. The small fishing town was such a focal point in Roma that Percy wanted to go with him.

"Ah, Perseus," his pater said, not turning around. That was good, it meant he was in a good mood. "I know you are to make for Tarentum soon, so I will not detain you long." He paused, probably to allow the words to register in his head. Percy clenched his jaw so that he would not be tempted into snapping some snarky retort at him. He wasn't  _stupid._ "Macedon has had suspicious activity. Their king, who is also called Perseus, keeps sending legions of soldiers across the lands. And yet, he has not tried to launch raids on the weaker kingdoms."

The pit of his stomach sank as he began to realize where this conversation was going. His pater turned around and slowly arched an eyebrow, like he was expecting him to connect the dots. Percy gulped, trying to rid the dryness in his mouth as he remembered back three or four sunrises ago, when his pater mentioned something about Macedon. He had forgotten about it until now.

_He wasn't joking about that?_

"Do you need me to send a few spies over there?"

A slow smirk spread across his pater's face. "No. I have a better idea. The Macedonians celebrate the turning of the quarter just as we Romans do."

Percy frowned. "Are you saying that I should send a party of ambassadors over there?"

His pater looked frustrated, and Percy was almost positive he would have rolled his eyes if it was not improper etiquette for a Caesar to do so.

" _Think_ , Perseus. Our peace treaties are almost due with the Macedonians, and what better time to renew them than at the turning of the quarter? Who would be better than an upcoming emperor of our mighty kingdom?"

It was only through years of practice that Percy was not gawping at his pater. Him? He was going to send  _him_? But he hadn't been outside of Roma since before his matera died— Usually, Rachel or someone like Reyna or Jason went.

"Me?" he asked, pointing at himself just to make sure. His pater nodded.

"You, and the barbarian princess."

"Heir Apparent," he reminded him, irritated for Annabeth's behath. How many times would people insult her until they realized she could be one of the best rulers? That was, after she was no longer a hostage to her temper and knew how to read and write.

His pater waved his hand dismissively. "You and your wife will go to Macedonia and find out what the Macedonian generals are doing, while renewing the peace treaty. You can take Reyna with you, if that is your preference." He added the last part almost as an afterthought, and Percy tried not to look too overwhelmed or relieved. If anyone could pull off the impossible, it was Reyna. "Actually, while you're out there, stop by Athens. I believe your chart passes close to the Island on the way up so I'm sure it is not too much trouble."

"Chart?" he asked, catching that single term. "You mean we're going by sea?"

His pater gave him The Look: the one that made him feel like he could sit in the palm of his pater's hand.

"Grow up and move on, Perseus. Your mater died ten years ago. Your petty grudge against Neptune cannot go on if you intend to expand our land or defend our country against invaders, or even if you want to travel efficiently to renew treaties."

He ran a hand through his hair, and he could feel the grease forming at the roots. He'd have to have some servants draw a bath for him then.

"I know," he said. "But it's not easy."

His pater stared at him, his eyes cutting into his, and Percy wasn't able to stifle the urge to shuffle his feet. He wondered if his moment of honesty was going to be rewarded with a clot. But then his pater lifted his eyes and shot a significant look over his shoulder at the slave; the one that said  _"get lost or get hurt_ ". He heard the scramble and the soft shut of the door, and what was going to happen next?

His pater laid a hand on his shoulder, not pushing him, but guiding him over to the windowsill that overlooked the city and the mountains that seemed to cut into the deep blue sky. The windows were open, allowing the surprisingly cool breeze to play with the white drapes.

"Perseus," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. Percy felt the tension drain out of his muscles as he realized that the older man was in a surprisingly peaceful mood, and lifted one leg so that he could wrap his arms around it. "I am not speaking to you as your Caesar, but your pater." He smiled (was this some imposter?!), the expression softening his brittle features.

"It is in your nature to care deeply about people, as it was in your mater's. You love much, and you protect with your all. But you loathe men who harm your family with a burning vengeance; it consumes your thoughts until it is the only thing you can think of. And that will be your downfall. Loyalty will never be your weakness; but the other side of the coin, holding a grudge, your fear of losing people,  _that_ will destroy you one day like it did me."

 _This_  was why he loved his pater so much. He was not blind to his faults, contradictory to what everyone thought. He was more aware of them than anyone else was, because Octavius  _was_ his father and he allowed Percy to see them. He lost his temper easily, he was violent and he was often downright cruel.

"Yeah, well . . ." he shrugged helplessly. "Forgiveness is something I'm still learning." He smiled lopsidedly at him, and his pater shook his head, blue eyes alight with something close to fondness. But he would never let Percy see that. Weakness was weakness, and you could not have strength if you were weak.

"You have the potential to be a greater ruler than I ever was." He said as he stood, signaling the conversation coming to a close. "You have that sense of justice and compassion your mater possessed. You have her face too." His pater placed his hand on his head and ran his fingers through his hair once, a gesture of comfort that Percy had probably only felt once or twice in his life. "I don't want you to lose that."

He let his head fall against the panel and smiled up at his pater, warmth coursing through him like fire at being compared to his matera. And by his pater of all people!

"Thanks."

His pater arched an eyebrow, but he didn't reprimand him for once, and turned away and walked toward his door. Percy looked out the window, watching as wisps of white curled around the mountains like smoke coming out of the nostrils of one of Lord Hephaestus' Colchis bulls.

"Oh, Perseus?" his voice was a slow drawl, and Percy looked over at him in surprise. "Do try to get to bed earlier if you mean to train the barbarian princess every evening. The circles under your eyes are . . . worrying."

He blinked once. Twice. Again. "How do you . . ." he began, then trailed off as the smirk crossed his pater's face. "Oh. Right. Never mind. Yeah, all right. More sleep. I won't stay up so late reading the Iliad."

"I should hope I would know what my son is doing, even if he is fully grown." There was a hint of laughter in his voice, but of course no one would believe him if he said that. Octavius Caesar was strict, and he  _never_ laughed. "Oh, and you may want to train her soul and mind more extensively."

_Mind, Body, Soul._

Percy shook his head as a laugh bubbled up his throat and out his mouth as his pater closed the door behind him. He looked at the mountains in the distance, but this time, he saw the green foothills as well.

_Matera used to say it's like climbing a mountain, becoming a leader that is. First, you go over the little easy foothills, then you get to the base of the mountain and it's daunting, looking up at how far you have to climb. You stumble and fall as you climb, and it is painful when you scrape your hands on rocks. But in the end, the view, the vision, is worth it._

* * *

"That took a while," Jason commented as Percy briskly walked into the stables. He rubbed his mare's, Chestnut's, red flank in a circle as he watched Percy untie the reigns to Jamie Boy. "What did he want?"

"Ah, he wants to send Annabeth and me to Macedonia and Athens this upcoming autumn." He said casually.

"He wants to send  _us_?" Annabeth's familiar voice drifted over to him as she appeared in his view, walking beside Reyna as Piper and Grover trailed behind them. He hadn't even heard her footsteps. She walked directly to Jamie Boy and ran her hand across his nose fearlessly, not even jumping when he snorted. "And a stop at  _Athens_ is on our itinerary?"

He frowned at her, forgetting about Jason. "I would have thought you'd be jumping up and down in joy and asking why we aren't leaving immediately."

She pressed her lips together. "It's not that, Athens is my home. It's just, it's in a bad shape right now with all the corruption in court and everything in shambles, according to my friend. It's not really the best time to go there."

Wouldn't she want to get back there even more in that case? If Roma was like that, he would be trying to get back as soon as he could. But she clearly wasn't going to talk about it now.

"We'll talk about this when I get back," he decided, and she smiled up at him. He kissed her quickly, though he would have preferred to have more time to say goodbye to her.

He placed his foot in the stirrup and swung his other leg across his back. Jason copied his example.

"Do try to keep up with your study, will you?" he said, making his voice more sardonic. "Keep pushing yourself a little beyond your limits every day when you run, and keep up with the baking hobby. And read what you can."

She shook her head and grabbed Jack's reigns. The powerful body beneath him rippled and flexed, like he was ready to start out at a gallop. Chestnut's hooves danced back and forth, like she was impatient to get going as Jason and Reyna exchanged softly-spoken tense words, if their bodies were anything to go by.

"Yeah, I will. Promise me you'll do your best to stay safe."

He blinked for a moment, surprised as her word choice.

Reyna once tried to make him promise to  _stay safe_ during his first patrols, not to do his best to stay safe. He had learned quickly to only say that he would try. She learned that trouble seemed to find him wherever he went though, so she reworded her phrase so  _he_  could promise he would try.

Annabeth was different though. Maybe she saw somehow he attracted trouble with a capital 'T', or maybe she had the same trouble as he did. That was how they met after all; she had been in trouble, and he had somehow gotten drawn into it.

"I promise," he said with a nod. She stepped away from Jamie Boy.

"I'll hold you to that."

He looked to the side and tilted his head. "I'm trusting you and Annabeth will hold the fort? Jason and I shouldn't be more than three or four sunrises, but plans change."

Reyna nodded. "We'll do our best."

Piper slung an arm across Annabeth's shoulders suddenly and beamed up at him. He couldn't help but smile at her in return. The young woman was kind, and he could tell that she was good for Annabeth. She evened out her brash-headedness.

"And if they need back up, me and Grover will be able to help. And maybe Luke or Thalia!" Annabeth frowned slightly, and he knew she was thinking of her friend who wouldn't speak to her— Nico.

"Thanks Piper." He said.

He flicked the reigns, and Jamie Boy started out at a brisk trot, with Jason coming up behind him. He turned to the blond man, trying not to let his confusion show.

"So, where  _exactly_ in Tarentum are we going?"

"You don't know?" He looked surprised. Percy shook his head.

"No. You just said we have to leave immediately and that you would tell the Caesar. I figured it would be pretty important for both the praetor and Heir Apparent to be requested, so I got ready immediately . . . and grabbed a few extra weapons. This sounds a little bit like a trap."

Jason shrugged. "It sounded that way to me too, which is why I asked if you wanted to come with me. "Constant vigilance" and all that. We're going by the coast."

"Oh." He said quietly. Tarentum was on the opposite side of Brunhism, which was a kingdom fighting Roman control since his pater kept trying to conquer it by force, and some other small country his pater inherited when an old King who had no heir died. "Yeah, if there's activity up there . . ." he shook his head. "And bringing a patrol would be a bad idea, because of size and we need speed. Yeah. I guess the best we can do is to keep our eyes and ears open."

"You're thinking out loud again, aren't you?"

"Do you  _want_ me to put poison in your side of the rations? I'm the only one who can cook decently!"

"No, no! Come on, let's get going."

And with that, Percy pressed the heels of his feet into Jamie Boy's sides and the horse erupted into a gallop.


	23. Capvt XXIII: Spiral of Truth

 Capvt XXIII: Spiral of Truth

* * *

" **I'M**  glad you're finally learning how to write and read, I assume."

Annabeth looked away from the scroll recording the creation of man (apparently Prometheus sculpted the first beings) she was copying and the writing tablet so that she could look at Piper. She apparently just stepped inside the open door connecting their chambers to the corridor. Her footsteps had been completely silent, which was strange since that one board under the doorframe always creaked.

"Percy started teaching me, before he left yesterday." She told her. A heartbeat later, she realized she had didn't need to offer an explanation. This was Piper after all, she didn't really care what she did during her freetime.

Piper whistled softly and flung herself into the chair, lounging in it like she were the queen or something. Annabeth bit back a smile. She must finally be getting through to her, that she didn't need to be so formal around her.

"He didn't take advantage of the fact you're his wife and his property -don't wrinkle your nose, you know it's true-, he's taught you how to fight, and now he's teaching you how to read and write? I'll be grateful if I catch a man half as good as he is to you."

She sat the writing tablet back up and placed the chalk to the board, running her fingers against it and feeling the grainy texture. Her fingers were white with dust as she put the chalk against the board and began copying the text again.  _Isn't εροςa kind of love?_

"Don't worry. I'm sure someone will at least be willing to handle your ego sometime before you turn thirty, Piper."

"The sarcasm is not appreciated, Annie."

She raised her eyes from her careful handwriting."But that wasn't sarcasm. It was logic."

"Oh my gods, he's worn off on you. Where's our innocent little Annabeth gone?"

She paused between the  _"Ρ"_ and the  _"Ο",_ the oddly comforting sound disappearing. She hadn't even finished writing the " _Ο"_. "I think she grew up on us all and disappeared."

Piper's eyes changed from blue to a pale gray, and her face twisted down. Annabeth didn't know if she was frowning or grimacing. "You've changed so much it scares me a little. I've always seen you as someone who needs protection from the enemy- whether that be reality or a physical person. Sometimes even yourself. Now . . . well, you've always been strong, but this is different. I can't tell you how glad I am to know a person like you."

She tilted her head. "I wouldn't be who I am today if there aren't people like you or Percy out there."

Piper smiled slightly and stood. "I'll be back later. I've got to fold these sheets."

Annabeth watched Piper leave the office, and sighed as soon as she was out of her sight. She looked down at her hands and closed her eyes, slumping into the uncomfortable chair.

That was odd. Piper wasn't really one who just confessed feelings right out the blue like that-it was almost out of character. She shook her head and dismissed the stray notion. She was probably thinking into things too much again.

Besides, it wasn't  _really_ out of character. Piper was one who normally poked and probed about her love life with Percy - which she didn't really understand anymore. She was beginning to feel something than what she suspected was more than simple friendship. It was something much more complex than that, and it made her feel both nervous and excited. Nervous because she didn't know if he returned her feelings, and excited because if he did, she wanted to find out what they meant.

A smile tugged at her lips and she didn't try to repress it. She felt so much more comfortable these last few days since Percy left. No, since that misunderstanding with the Caesar. There was still the fear that lurked in the back of her mind that someone was going to try to hurt her, but it was steadily going away. She understood that they were taking it slow until she was ready- until  _both_  of them were ready, she suspected.

Who would have thought: talking about it  _did_  make it easier.

"Annabeth?" Piper's voice called out, and she appeared in the doorway. The board creaked. "Did I just see Reyna leaving?"

"No," she said, looking up and dropping the chalk. She hadn't even finished the writing the sigma in " _ερος"_. "You know that-" she stopped herself when Piper's completely baffled expression registered. "Wait, you were talking to me just a moment ago."

"Uh, no. I was folding laundry. I haven't seen you since daybreak."

Hold it, if that hadn't been Piper, then who had it been? Was  _this_ even Piper? Annabeth felt her throat begin to close up, so she cleared it and took a deep breath. This must be the real Piper, because if she were a fake Piper then she wouldn't have advertised the fact that she was fake. Plus, the other Piper was acting weird. But maybe this was a fake Piper and she was pretending she was the real Piper in order to disorient her, so she would give up sensitive information. But if she was the real Piper, then she could have said something sensitive to the other Piper without even realizing it . . .

There was one way to know for sure though. Her mind flashed back to the day when they realized she was engaged to the Heir of Rome.

"What was the thing I told you, the day we left Athens?" She asked immediately after that train of thought finished. She reached for one of the daggers Percy kept in a secret compartment. Piper's eyes sharpened.

""You're the truest friend I've got." What did  _I_ tell you that day?"

Annabeth would have smiled if she didn't feel so worried. That conversation had been engraved in her mind. There was no way she could _ever_ forget Luke, Thalia, or Piper's declarations of loyalty, though Thalia had been the least eloquent of all of them, with a simple, "where you go, I go".

""I'll follow you to the depths of Tartarus if you ask."" She replied instantly. Nico had just glared at her when Thalia had tried to get him to say something.

Piper relaxed visibly and placed the linens down on the chair the other Piper -the fake Piper- had lounged on. Annabeth wanted to kick herself as she finally began to understand what happened. She should have realized something was wrong, but she had just blown off the Fake Piper's behavior like it was no big deal.

"What happened?"

"Uh," she said. The idea that there was someone who could take the form of Piper was beginning to sink in. What if they could take on other forms as well? They could pretend they were Octavius and order manslaughter! Or Percy! "Your  _exact_ doppelganger just came in here. Literally."

"Huh?"

She shook her head in an effort to clear her thoughts. She had to stay focused on the conversation. She could panic later. "I don't know how it's possible either. Someone who looked  _exactly_ like you just came in here." Piper sat down on the chair and leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hands. Her expression was not her normal cheerful, but sober.

"This is  _really_ bad. What if I said something to someone who I thought was, I don't know, Nico, and it's not something we want to get out in the general public?"

"I know," she agreed quietly. The possibilities she was coming up with made her feel sick to her stomach. "And who knows who else has been imitated. There's something wrong here."

"We should say passwords, that way we know it's really the other person we're talking to. Something only the other person would know."

"What's this about passwords?" Reyna's lilting voice startled Annabeth from her reply to Piper's suggestion. When she looked up, the praetor was walking over to the table, her arms loaded down with something. Piper leapt to her feet and took them from her, even though Reyna looked ready to protest.

"When did we first meet?" She asked as Piper put whatever it was down. Reyna's eyes narrowed a fraction then there was a calculating edge in them.

"In a forest a little north of Tarentum. You may want to make your questions slightly less obvious, so that no one will realize you've figured them out. Maybe in a conversation?"

"Definitely Reyna," Piper muttered under her breath as she sat down on the arm of the chair. Annabeth glanced at her, a little surprised by the tone. Why would she hold a grudge? She was pretty sure they got along well.

Filing the thought away for future examination, she turned to address Reyna and nodded. "That's a good idea."

Reyna turned, walked, and closed the door. "So, what is going on? I take it you two have figured something out."

"Yes," she said. "Someone who looked exactly like Piper just came in here. I thought she had been acting a little strange, but I dismissed it. After she left, the  _real_ Piper came in and we realized something was amiss."

"Not very smart then, if it didn't know to not come in until they knew Piper will be gone for a while." Reyna replied, almost sounding like she was talking to herself. She tapped her chin and her eyebrows furrowed.

"Maybe it was an impulse move?" Piper suggested.

"Could be," Reyna said with an incline of her head in her direction. "But who would have the power to do something like this?"

They fell silent, thinking over it. Piper was the one who answered.

"A god."

"A god?" Reyna's eyebrows furrowed together. Annabeth looked down at her "ερος". It looked sloppy now. "But they're good, aren't they?"

Αnnabeth shook her head. "No, they're definitely not good. Just slightly more tolerant than the titans or the Protogenoi. Then there are the ones who helped the Titans, or the ones who just plain greedy and there are some who are just malicious in general-like Eris. In simple terms, do not trust gods or goddesses. Ever."

"Then why-wait, that's not right. Who,  _who_  would do this?" Reyna asked.

Piper shrugged. "As far as I'm aware, there's no shape-shifting god or goddess. Annabeth? You know of any?"

It took her by surprise that she was the one being asked that question. After all, she didn't have an education, so she was less intelligent than someone like Reyna. Then she felt warmth in her chest as she realized they were taking her seriously.

"I can't recall of any, but I'll look in the tomes. If we still haven't figured it out by the time Percy and Jason-" both of them tensed for some reason, but she barely noticed it as something heavy settled on her chest "-are back, I'll ask them. Just keep your guard up. There's something strange going on here."

And that was an understatement.

* * *

_Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred!_

Her arms ached as she finished her last push-up and collapsed face first into the ground. The ground smelled of dirt and dew from the early morning.

It was strange, not hearing Percy's voice taunting her with faked sweetness, but at least she would see him soon. It was kind of scary how much she already missed him, and he had only been gone for two days.

 _Why can't I stop thinking about him?_  She pushed herself up, pressing a hand against her mouth to repress a yawn. She already went through push-ups, sit-ups and jogged a mile at least. So, what would she work on next? Punching or using her saber?

 _I need to be alert enough tomorrow to go through those tomes;_ her conscious reminded her.

"Lady Night's time has almost arrived," a high-pitched, familiar voice drifted over to her ears. Her heart leapt into her throat. While she wasn't strictly forbidden from training in Roma, a part her still expected someone to drag her off by her hair to the pyre. After all, she was a woman who had been forbidden by the King to study the art of fighting.

She was supposed to be a dainty, helpless  _Lady_ after all.

A man and a woman walked onto the training ground. One had long, curly hair and the other had short blond hair. She pressed herself into the ground as close as possible.

 _I know that hair . . ._ She thought as a strand of her own hair fell against her hand.  _It's so familiar, but how?_

"Finally. And are all the points done?"

"Almost; the blood seal for Tarentum is almost complete. The Heir Apparent and Praetor left a couple of days to investigate."

She felt her eyes widen as a cold feeling washed over her, leaving her fingers and toes tingly. Blood seal? She was pretty sure that wasn't a good thing. In fact, it had a weight to it that felt similar to the word sacrifice.

_Did Percy walk into a trap?_

She balled her fists up and swallowed. She couldn't afford to jump to conclusions.

"Fools. If resurrecting them didn't hinge so much on those two, they would have been killed years ago for their meddling."

"Calm yourself, Discordia."  _Eris,_ she thought.  _Discordia is Eris' Roman form._

"Like you're any better."

The woman turned around, and Annabeth couldn't stifle the little gasp. The face the woman wore . . . it was her own.

Someone had stolen her face. Or she had a twin.

Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as her heart began to pound in her chest. Someone had her face. Someone looked like her doppelganger. How was this possible? There was no way someone could look exactly like her! There was something wrong here. She- she-

 _Okay Annabeth,_ she told herself.  _Calm down and think rationally over this. This happened earlier with Piper._

She took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. What would Percy do if he had been in the same situation?

_Lay low until they leave, then tell Octavius._

"There's someone here."

She stiffened. Oh,  _now_ she was completely, utterly-

"Don't be ridiculous."

Her look alike frowned and peered into the gloom. She held her breath, trying not to move even though her hands felt warm and sweaty. They were going to catch her- she knew that. They were going to catch her and kill her or they will use her as hostage or maybe they'll torture her for nonexistent information or maybe they'll use her as bait to capture Percy so that they can torture  _him_ for information or hold him hostage  _or-_

"Perhaps you are right. We should leave the open though. I do not wish for anyone to overhear our agenda."

"All right."

Annabeth breathed a soft sigh of relief as they left. There was something  _seriously_ wrong going on here.

But the question was,  _what is it?_

* * *

Annabeth walked toward the library, last night's events on her mind. She jumped when she heard a screech; but that was just a horse getting loose from its carriage. She ignored the commotion and continued toward her destination, bumping into people but not apologizing.

A hand suddenly reached out from a shadow, and jerked her back. She shrieked, her heart pounding in her chest, and then she stood in a dark cluster with Nico. Her heart felt like it was trying to jump out of her chest and there was something in her throat. She didn't even feel happy that he seemed to be on kidnapping terms with her anymore, which was better than the silent treatment.

"What in Tartarus, Nico?" she hissed. "You've ignored me for  _five months_ and then you go and kidnap me in broad daylight and why did you suck me into your shadow-thing?"

"Shh, not so loud! I'm not sure it's entirely safe, even here." He said, patting down air. She stared at him, but her heart was beginning to calm down and the fog was clearing from her mind. She felt a little annoyed now though, since he had just kidnapped her. "I knew there wasn't something right with the kingdom since we got here, and the feeling has only intensified. And then there's darkness and the night slowly forming, both of whom control the shadow lands-"

"Nico, what are you talking about? I can't speak in code!"

"Then figure the code  _out_. As I was saying, there's something Not Right with this country-"

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully to herself, interrupting him. "I felt that too. Someone made an exact replica of Piper and paraded about in our chambers. Wait, what's Not Right?"

"Just  _listen to me_ for  _once_  in your  _life,_ Annabeth!" He rolled his eyes, this time looking extremely frustrated with her. "We're all in it too deep, there's no turning back, but be careful, all right? There's something wrong with the Life Force of this country. And I'm still angry at you, understand?"

"Huh? What?"

The shadows spat her out. Annabeth stared. And stared. And stared. No one jostled into her, or yelled at her, or spoke to her in reverence. She was completely alone for once.

Instantly, she decided that this this had to be some strange dream. The only problem with that was it too bizarre for her to even imagine, and she never dreamt dreams this vivid. So maybe she wasn't dreaming after all.

She had no idea if she should be happy he wasn't giving her the silent treatment anymore, or annoyed that he was still angry with her.

And what had he meant by Shadow Lands anyway?

* * *

 **Note:** There are 3 words for "love" that I know of in Greek. Eros, the one I used, is a sexual/intimate love, between a man and a woman.  _Edit: My bad. Apparently, eros is similar to infatuation or lust, apparently._ Philia is more of a familial love, or a deep sense of loyalty/friendship. Agape is like Christ's love for the church, or a brotherhood kind of love. Please note that as I am not Greek, my information may be incorrect. 


	24. Capvt XXIV: Creeping Shadows

Capvt XXIV: Creeping Shadows

**Percy**   
_Appia Via (The Appian Way), x176 BC_

* * *

**WHITE.**

That was the first word Percy thought of when he opened his eyes. He stood on top of what looked like white nothingness, a vast expanse of fog and cloud. A deep, primal part of him understood that the laws of nature did not apply to this place, possibly because there was no wind. There was no warmth, but it wasn't cold either; it just  _was._ He couldn't smell or feel anything, not even himself. His fingers felt devoid of warmth, and when he touched his wrist, he couldn't feel his skin. The place didn't feel particularly malicious, just  _wrong,_ if that was possible. As though it didn't belong there— or  _he_ didn't belong there.

 _It feels like that place I dreamed of months ago,_ he thought,  _With the weird visions._

What was the being called again? It began with a Κ... Καος? Κηαος? No, it called itself Χαος.  _Khaos._ He felt like panicking. Was this a dream? He thought the last one had been a dream!

Deciding to squash down the hysteria building in his chest —he felt like running like a headless chicken, a  _screaming_  headless chicken— as he had to keep a level head, he took one step forward, and another. And another. And another. He extended his arm out, but it was just  _there._ Was this place even  _solid?_

 _It's eerie,_ he thought as he spun on his heel in a full circle.  _There's something not right here._

 _What is it then?_ A voice that sounded suspiciously like Reyna asked.

 _I don't know._ He told the voice. And he didn't know what it was. The last time he had been so disoriented that he didn't really sense it, but now, it just  _hung_ there like a heavy tapestry.

"Pax."

He jumped a little, his heart jumping into his throat as the multilayered voice echoed all around him. It was Khaos, there was no other explanation for it,  _no one else_ could have that strange voice. And Pax? That meant "Peace".

"Brother." A female voice spoke, not at all sounding like Khaos' multilayered voice. The white nothingness seemed to split apart somehow as a man and a girl walked toward him. He froze, but he couldn't hide anywhere so he stayed still, trying to not breathe, and he prayed that they wouldn't see him. This place was like one of those open fields, and it made him feel like a sitting duck.

"It's so good to see you again," the man, who had hair as white as snow, told the girl. She closed her eyes and smiled. Percy noticed her feet were bare and her hair was loose— it was pretty, the same color as the sun. "How is Earth?"

She shrugged, and in his mind, he could see her skipping along the side of a riverbank. "In turmoil again. The Olympians are horrendous at keeping the peace. You should take it back."

 _Huh?_ He thought. He leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, not really realizing it. He agreed with the girl, but the way she said it was so blunt, almost adult-like, and yet childish at the same time. He didn't know how to explain it.

"I would take over, but..." The man flicked his finger and a small bolt of lightning jumped out of his fingers. The hairs on the back of Percy's neck stood on end, but he couldn't smell the ozone. Suddenly, the lightning reflected back at the man, a bright blue color that was close to white, crackling, sizzling, and he absorbed it into his fingers. "But I'm afraid I am stuck in this retched place until one of my brethren breaks me free from these chains that bind."

The girl sighed, blowing some hair out of her still-closed eyes. What color were they anyway?

"I would free you, but you are  _chaos._ I'm afraid the peace will be uprooted even more so. Discordia has been doing a  _fine_ job at that."

_Discordia? Wasn't she the one who threw a golden apple?_

The man held his hand up in an almost nonchalant gesture. "You and Order, yakking about peace and balance. Neither of you are any fun. I can't believe I'm actually related to both of you."

The girl smiled. "You create chaos and destruction wherever you go." Her tone was mild, like she was stating a fond fact, and a little longsuffering. "Somebody needs to make sure you don't destroy the universe."

He sighed. "I keep telling you, the volcanoes were Order's fault." – _Volcano? What is that?—_ "She went power-mad that one time a thousand years ago and I had to stop her. I'm better than she is at keeping peace."

"Don't grudge Order for winning human favor, brother. You are rather intimidating."

The man looked indigent. "I  _created_ the universe with Order!" He also sounded rather whiny. "I should have half of the credit—but  _nooo,_ she gets all of it because she's the good and kindly Protogenoi! What about me? If not for me, mankind would not be able to create and destroy!"

She open her eyelids, and Percy could finally see the color in her eyes. One was silver, like the moon, and the other was the same color of the sun. She placed a hand on her hip and tilted her head, her hair swaying with her movements.

"The stuff you created blow up all the time though." She said, her tone absolutely innocent and childlike. "Order says they're your failed experiments."

"Bah!" He waved his hand, like he was swatting a fly or dismissing someone. The gestures were pretty similar. "You can't make something without destroying things first, sister. Destroy and create, such is the nature of human beings, is that right?"

"I think you're just jealous."

"Jealous? Jealous! I  _never_ get jealous—I am the first one, the Alpha and the Omega, the—"

"O Arrogant Ruler Stuck in a Holding Cell?" He glared at her, but she only jumped and walked on something so that they stood at the same height. "Besides, you shouldn't look down on human beings. They're far more resourceful than you can imagine. There's a reason why Zeus fears them so."

The man blew heavily. "Zeus' power is the size of my  _small finger_ , compared to you or I." He held his fifth finger up high. It was a long finger. "The Earth is a  _speck_ in the whole universe, which  _I_ created."

"Arrogance does not become you." She sighed, and then she closed her eyes. She sounded like she had to tell him this several hundred times.

" _Arrogance_? I am not being arrogant—I'm just stating a simple fact."

"You don't have to state it out loud."

He pouted and Percy decided that he was very childish for someone who supposedly created the universe.  _And who created it anyway?_ "You're no fun."

"Someone has to keep the peace, Khaos."

Percy felt his breath catch in the back of his throat. The edges of his vision turned dark and blurry and the white nothingness swayed.  _That perfectly normal looking man_ was  _Khaos?_ It was impossible! Khaos was a white, humanoid  _thing._ That man looked human! So, how could he be the same person—thing?—as Khaos? And that girl, who was she? Was she even a girl? A human?

"You haven't done a very good job," the man— _Khaos?—_ grumbled, crossing his arms. Percy tried to reconciliate this person with that  _thing_ he saw. It was impossible. And that girl... what was she?

 _Something isn't right here,_ he decided.  _This place is_ _wrong._ _There's something going on with the gods and Roma may be at the center of it. My_ country  _may be at the center of some type of plot._

"You don't understand humans. I can't just  _make_ peace, because that would be like possessing them. I want peace, and I want harmony, but I will not lower myself to that of a parasite." Her words were strong and everything  _but_ childlike, and Percy wondered yet again, just who she was.

Khaos—the man?—sighed. "Very well, Pax. Nyx will free me from these chains soon enough."

The girl—Pax? Peace?—sighed also and pressed her arms together so that the sleeves of her dress fell to the ground. "Be careful of her, brother. I don't trust her."

"I don't trust my daughter either."

"Good." She smiled. "Goodbye."

"Farewell."

The white nothingness shifted and blurred and darkened, and then he could see the stars again. He could feel the heat emitting from the embers of the fire and the prickly feeling of grass on his arms. He could smell the wildflowers and the trees and something else. He could hear Jason snoring like a pig.

He shuddered and tried to close his eyes, but the white nothingness was seared behind them. He opened them again. That wasn't a dream. It was everything  _but_ a dream...

"Jason?" he hissed, pushing himself up on his elbow.

"Hmm?" He heard Jason grunt. He shook his head and slid back down.

"Never mind. I'll tell you later."

"Okay."

Percy sighed and stared at the stars, and he wondered if Annabeth was training or sleeping. He already missed her.

* * *

"And you're the epitome of proper Roman pride," Percy stated, shaking his head as he watched Jason shovel the second peasant leg down his throat, spilling some of the juice from the fat bird. Jason grinned at him, pieces of meat between his teeth, and Percy made sure to school his expression into one that expressed disgust.

"Aw, come on, Perce, lighten up will ya? Nobody's 'round us, and ya can't be all proper all the time!" His accent became more pronounced as talked around the food in his mouth and waved the bone at him. Percy clucked his tongue, feeling remarkably like a disapproving mother hen as he took a deep draft out of the watered-down mead.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

"You sound like Reyna."

"I  _grew up_ with Reyna," he tried not to let his tone be too snarky, but Jason smile reminded him somewhat of the sun; bright and blinding. He tore a piece of the breast meat off with his fingers and put it in his mouth so that he wouldn't have to gift Jason with a reply.

"That explains  _everything_ then."

He swallowed. "Not this again. You've been telling me this since we were children."

"The bossiness, the determination to play to the rules by the boot—"

"You realize there have been a number of times I could have had you arrested, correct? And an Heir Apparent isn't supposed to be in charge of defense. That's  _the praetor's_ duty."

"Hah! As if you'd ever allow Reyna  _or_ me to look over the reports without checking them yourself at least once." Jason pointed at him, and Percy rolled his eyes. His mind scrambled around, looking for a retort, but a deeper part of him knew it was true. But that was probably a good thing, at least he cared about Roma . . . even if it meant less time on his hands.

And his mother used to say that someone couldn't expect to rule a country if he didn't know the workings of the army, the weaknesses and strengths of it.

"Yeah, well . . ." he jerked his head to the side. "Oh, just shut  _up_."

Instead of being offended, Jason only laughed, and Percy felt a smile tug at his lips.

"So, why did you wake me up last night?" He asked, and Percy felt his spirits drop. Oh, yeah, that. He was trying to forget about it until they got back to Roma. He heard one of the horses snort.

"I had a dream."

"Seriously?"

"Well, not really a dream," he amended, ignoring Jason's annoyed expression. "It felt more like a vision."

Jason raised an eyebrow and chewed his meat before gulping it down with some water. "A vision? The last time you had a vision was before Rachel was murdered."

_A deep wound. Dagger in her hand. Blood everywhere. Chest not moving._

"Yeah," he said.

"Sorry."

He shook his head, trying to get rid of the images. Maybe he was never going to get over Rachel, even despite how much he liked Annabeth. Maybe it never really went away, the pain that was. It just got easier to ignore.

"Don't be, you're right. The last time I had a vision was before Rachel—died."  _Well, that's better than denying it entirely._ He pushed the meat away and took a sip of his water, his mouth suddenly dry and his appetite gone. He wished he could just  _move on_.

"What was it about?" Jason asked quietly. Percy noticed he put the leg of the peasant down.

"Well, it's a little strange, but I was in this white place. It wasn't even light, just whiteness. I don't know how to really describe it, other than I felt like I was everywhere and nowhere at the same time. There was no ground and no sky."

"Okay?"

Percy pressed his fingers together, trying to collect his thoughts. "There were two people there, Khaos and Pax." Jason inhaled sharply. "They were talking about how he created the world, and then she said something about not using humans to create peace, and then he said something about Nyx freeing him."

"Oh wow." Jason whistled, and he crossed his legs into a lotus position. "That's bad news. You're  _completely_ sure this is Khaos, Pax and Nyx?"

"Pretty sure. I don't think they knew I was there and they called each other by those names."

"Khaos probably knew you were there, since he created  _everything_ along with his sister's help."

"Order?"

"Yeah."

"He called Pax his sister as well."

"It wouldn't surprise me." Percy waited for him to continue. Out of everyone, Jason knew the most about the Olympians because he was a son of Jupiter and he used to live out on the streets. "Okay, so you know Khaos is the first protogenoi, right?"

"Yes."

"Do you know what a Protogenoi is?"

"Kind of," he admitted. "Aren't they the first beings?"

"Yes. There are twelve of them, to be exact. I know Nyx is one of them. They say she's the embodiment of night."

Percy frowned, and his thoughts began to race. If Nyx was the embodiment of night, then why was she trying to unchain Khaos? It didn't add up.

"It doesn't." Jason agreed, and for a moment Percy was confused, but then he realized he must have spoken it out loud. "I think we should keep an eye out and be careful. We really have no idea what's going on."

Percy stood up. "I think we should get going," he decided. "We're less than a day away from Tarentum and I want to get there before sunset. Besides, there's no use thinking over this when we don't really understand what is going on."

"You got that right," Jason muttered. He threw the leg of his peasant away, and a fox cub darted out of the bushes to grab it. Percy smiled slightly and rubbed his hands together.


	25. Capvt XXV: On the Edge of the Ocean

**** Capvt XXV: On the Edge of the Ocean

Tarentum

* * *

 **A**  sinking feeling began in the pit of Percy's stomach as he and Jason rounded the final bend in the road, walking on foot, and looked down at the small town of Tarentum.

The ground had been scorched and upturned. Weapons had been strewn everywhere, and if Percy paid attention closely enough, he could see long, narrow white things. Bones? He was sure he didn't want to know, if the heavy, oppressive feeling in the air was something to go by.

Somehow, he knew that his people did this— Roman soldiers did this. He didn't really know how he knew that, just that he did. His pater ordered the Roman military to takeover a small trading port, and for what? More land? Roma barely traveled by sea. For his greed then? He didn't understand. Why had his pater not informed him of this? No, why didn't his pater try to form an alliance? Tarentum was small, it didn't have its own government, let alone a military. So why...

"Gods," Jason breathed, and when he turned around, his eyes were round as though he were surprised. Percy wondered if he knew about this. Probably not. "Did we do this?"

"Yeah," he said, kicking at a white rock. It crumbled to pieces, like ashes blowing into the wind. His head spun and his stomach churned. He could taste something bitter in the back of his mouth. "We did this."

He saw that the buildings were falling into the rough, unforgiving sea.

"Things will be different when you're Caesar." Jason told him quietly. Percy forced himself to smile in an effort to lighten the mood as he looked at him.

"Careful. What you're saying could be considered treason."

Jason shrugged. "It's the truth."

Percy looked back at the city. Maybe it would be different, and maybe not. He didn't know how to do anything differently from what his pater taught him, and even if he did somehow change it in his lifetime, then what about in the future? He _knew_ human nature. Fear and greed were primary motives— mankind rarely did something that was beneficial for future generations. And even if they did do something now, some egomaniac will just come in and destroy it all.

How could he go up against something like that? Or was he just being arrogant? Ignorant? Naïve?

"Stop doubting yourself," Jason interrupted. "You'll figure something out eventually, and you don't need all the answers now."

He smiled a little more genuinely. He knew Jason was right. He'd figure it out eventually, but for now he just needed to look into the happenings of this town.  _Why did I think Rome was a happy place in the first place anyway?_ He wondered, but when he tried to think back, he couldn't remember his reasons. Maybe he had just been parroting what his pater kept telling him. It wouldn't be the first time after all.

 _Am I really still that naive?_ He wondered, but then he dismissed it quickly. Impossible. He was a twenty-year-old man, not a ten year old boy.

"I still can't understand how you like wearing scratchy peasant clothing." Jason said, suddenly changing the subject. Percy looked down at his tunic and tried not to smile at the dull brown-gray cotton. Very different from the purple silk he wore usually.

"I don't get stared at like I'm an animal on display when I wear peasant clothes." He didn't really think about his answer as he walked around his horse and pulled out his cloak.

"Sometimes," Jason began, shaking his head. "I really don't understand you."

* * *

"Two hundred denarii."

For a moment, Percy thought he had misheard the innkeeper, and he clutched his pouch of money close to his waist. Ridiculous.

"Two  _hundred_ denarii?" He repeated, just to make sure. He hadn't expected it to be more than fifty denarii for a single room. He did have enough money to cover it, but it was still a lot. Too bad this was the only inn in town, otherwise he'd have gone somewhere else if he could. A part of him contemplated just sleeping outside again.

"Aye, son. Two hundred denarii for 'un room with two cots and a hot grub of fish and wine. Times are hard fer eve'yone."

Percy shook his head as he pulled the coins out, glad that Jason was outside the inn otherwise he would have probably have a tantrum and get them thrown out. If he thought the price was ridiculous, then he couldn't imagine his reaction...

He heard children laughing and shrieking so he assumed Jason was playing with them. Jason always had been good with children—better than himself, and Percy  _liked_ children, and definitely better than Reyna or Rachel.

"How much is it for the fish and wine?"

The man rubbed his beard, but Percy couldn't help but notice how his eyes didn't leave his moneybag. He made a mental note to keep it with him at all times.

"Twenty for 'un fish and twenty 'un glass of wine."

"That makes the room one hundred and twenty then," he calculated aloud. Still rather pricey, but he still felt guilty over the ravaged landscape coming into the town, which made him feel obliged to give extra money to the town. Besides, they were undercover. He wondered if there was enough time before nightfall to walk down to the seaside.

"You a smart 'un den, are ya? We don' get many like you."

_I can't imagine why, I feel like I'm becoming stupid just being around your stinking breath._

"My wife is smarter than me." He evaded the question, not speaking his thoughts out loud. He didn't want people to find out who he really was, since he was sure there was leftover resentment at the Roman Empire. That would be the end of getting away from Roma. His pater had always been overprotective.

"Women always are, even when they're being dumb."

He laughed a little nervously and scratched the back of his neck. He decided to not voice his agreement, because he didn't want her to find out. Just in case. It never hurt to be a little careful, especially when it came to Annabeth. He had a habit of underestimating her.

He pulled out the last coin and pushed the small pile over the counter. The man grinned, giving Percy a full view of his chipped and yellow teeth.

"Excellent. Thank you very much, err..."

"Percy." He supplied. "Thank you for the room, Sir."

"It was my pleasure!"

As he walked up the creaking stairs to deposit his satchel, he got the feeling he had just been robbed somehow. He brushed it off quickly though.

* * *

"Where're you going?" Jason asked as he walked by, holding his arms out so that a boy and a girl could hang off them. Percy wondered how he even noticed him with how much he was concentrating on them, but then he realized that he was  _praetor._

_He'd be a pretty awful praetor if he didn't know what was going on around him._

"Down to the seaside."

"Careful around the rocks, friend of Jason! They're slippery." The girl said as she dropped down and earnestly looked up at him. She even tugged on his sleeve a little. Percy smiled.

"Aw, Martiel. Stop being such a worrywart! He's big!" The boy complained. The girl –Martial—glared at him, so he spoke up quickly to avoid an argument between the two siblings.

"Don't worry, I'll be careful. And thanks for the warning. I'm sure I may have slipped into the water if you didn't tell me." Which, technically wasn't true, but Martiel grinned up at him and her bright eyes made the white lie worth it.

He waved over his shoulder as he walked away, pretending he didn't hear her, "I  _told_ you so, Abraham."

His mind wandered with his feet, and his thoughts eventually went to the future. Like, if he and Annabeth would one day have children that got along well with each other. He hoped so.

It was lonely being an only child, though he would never admit that out loud. To  _anyone_. Reyna and Jason were like family to him, and he knew she was the closest thing he had to a sister, but it just wasn't the  _same_. He didn't know how he knew that. He just  _did._

And if he had a sibling... He didn't really know. He was sure he would have tried to be his (or her) friend, because having a sibling meant that you would have a friend for life. Honestly, he didn't understand why brothers and sisters hated each other, like Reyna and her sister. After all, wouldn't it be better to have a friend for life then an enemy? Because you're related by blood, and he didn't care about other opinions on that.

A sparkling, silver expanse formed on the horizon as the terrain grew rockier. He was getting close now, and he had to stop himself from skipping the rest of the way. He didn't want to slip.

Didn't stop his face from feeling like it was about to break in half. He must be grinning.

He knew he could dry himself off, but the idea of getting cold didn't excite him much. The leaves had begun to change colors.

He sat down on a rock when he finally got over the edge —the girl had been right, it  _was_ slippery— then he stared out at the water, and the sight took his breath away almost.

The water stretched as far as he could see, to the horizon. The colors changed, from gray to blue to green with the reflection from the sun and the sky.

The waves slammed against the rocks so hard that the spray leapt fifty, sixty feet into the air. When the tide ebbed away, it left white, foamy stuff on the surface and sea creatures scuttling around. Just as quickly, ripples and waves would creep up against the white shore, eventually break into sea foam and slide back into the sea, taking and leaving shells and seaweed with it's motion. Then just as suddenly, it would slam against the cliffs so hard that it surprised him they didn't break under the sea's might.

Seagulls circled the sky and cried and dove into the water, probably trying to catch some fish. The ocean makes a sucking sound, and when he stuck his tongue out, he could taste the salt in the air. And the  _smell..._ like saltwater and fish at the same time. It was like no other scent.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"

Percy jumped and he reached for his sword as he looked over his shoulder. A man sat next to him, his hand resting on a cane like he had been sitting there next to him the whole entire time. His eyes — _green_ , Percy noted,  _a very strange green, like the water_ —were fixed on the horizon.

"Um, yes?"

The old man looked at him disapprovingly. "Do not disrespect her, young man. She is a friend—a fickle friend, I should say."

"Really?"

"Oh yes. She brings fine days where I can fish from dawn to dusk. She tempts me to trust her, to love her. But then in the blink of an eye, I can incur her wrath and she'll rise her might against my little hand-painted boat of wood. You should respect her, and hold her in awe, but always remain wary of her. I doubt even Neptune himself can control her if he displeases her."

Percy blinked, unable to reply to the sudden onslaught of poetry. It was just so  _sudden._ The man grinned suddenly, and he noticed that his teeth weren't chipped or yellow.

"No need to worry son. I'm just a harmless old fisherman."

_Harmless? My podex. The last time someone told me that, he left me under the belly of a horse._

He tightened his grip on his sword. Those eyes... he was sure he saw them somewhere. They looked familiar for some reason. The old man turned back to the ocean.

"Ah, the days of youth. I remember how I used to go out shelling all hours of the day, only for my mater or soror to yell at me to come back in. The sea is my life, my profession, my world... and my greatest enemy."

Percy decided that he liked the man, even though he didn't trust him. So he settled back down into the rock, even though he kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Just in case. Who knew, maybe this man was a shape-shifter. Like Proteus.

"I come from an area surrounded by land, so it's very rare I'm able to be around the ocean."  _It has a lot of water._

The man sighed. "Such a shame. The sea has healing elements and it helps to take away stress, and you're a young man under stress if I ever saw one."

_Does everyone else see me that way?_

"Don't worry, I'm just able to see things like that."

Percy looked at the man, trying to gauge him truly. How in the  _world_ did he know what he was thinking? "Are you a mind reader?"

The man laughed. "Not at all. I'm Abijam by the way." He held his hand out, and Percy took it.

"Percy."

"You must not be from around here. I know everyone's face."

Percy loosened his grip on the sword. He was beginning to believe if this man was aiming to hurt him, he would have done so long ago. He wouldn't let his guard down though—he really liked his face and he was pretty sure Annabeth wouldn't be happy if he got in a fight and lost one of his limbs. She liked playing with his fingers for some reason, and she was  _way_ too good at tripping him up for her own good.

"I'm a traveler. We —my friend and I— heard rumors up north that strange things were happening here, so we decided to check it out for ourselves." He explained, pulling his leg up so that his ankle rested on his knee. He shifted so that he faced the man a little more squarely. A seagull landed on the bolder, looked at him with a beady eye, and tilted its head.

"Hmm. Are you talking about the aperture?"

"Aperture?" he echoed.

"Yes. They say it just appeared overnight. They say it looks like a hole in the ground, but that's what they say. I've never looked at it myself, since these old bones aren't up for extensive traveling." He laughed and slapped his thigh. "Nobody really knows what it is."

"Hmm. I've seen something like that in Sparta before," Percy said, thinking back to his last visit in his home country. He hadn't thought of it in so long that he was surprised he still remembered the details. The bird walked closer to him, and Percy waved his arms, shooing it away. It left with an angry  _skawk_.

"Oh yes. The city that was razed in a day by a large wave?"

"What?" Percy hadn't heard anything about  _that._ "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just something a little birdie told me. Apparently, Sparta was destroyed by a large wave— there were only a few survivors. Apparently, the Roman empress was there when it happened."

He stared at his hand. His knuckles had turned white, so he loosened his fingers and let go of the hilt. If he had to get his sword, he could reach it. For now though, he didn't want to break his knuckles from squeezing the sword too tight. It happened before once.

"Yeah..."

_Poseidon, there's no other explanation. But why though? Why would he want to wipe out an entire town just for my mother? Was she even his main target?_

There was a prickling sensation, as though Abijam was staring at the side of his head. When he looked up though, the old man was looking away from—at the ocean again. That frustrated him.

"Well, I must be going now."

Percy blinked at the abrupt announcement. The old man was already standing up and hobbling away as he half-processed what he just said. How could someone just up and leave, just like that? Wasn't that rude?

He realized something.

"Wait!" He shouted, turning around. Abijam looked over his shoulder. "Where he the hole?"

"Oh, on the West side of the town." he responded, "But I wouldn't go there if I were you. They say that place is cursed."

_Interesting._

He smiled. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, son." He waved over his shoulder as he walked away, a skip in his step.  _Odd, wasn't he limping just a moment ago?_ And he could have sworn the fish were following the man for some reason, but then he dismissed it as the light reflecting strangely off the water.

It was getting late anyway.


	26. Capvt XXVI: The Root of Fear

Capvt XXVI: The Root of Fear

**"YOU** were gone for a while. I almost started a search."

"Sorry. I lost track of time," Percy replied as he and Jason stepped into the threshold of the inn. The keeper smiled at him and waved in greeting, so he waved back.

"Why does he look like a cat who just swallowed a canary?" He frowned and looked at Jason.  _Who is he talking about?_ Jason must have read the expression on his face, because he elaborated a heartbeat later, "The innkeeper."

"I don't know," he replied without a pause. He wasn't lying, he really didn't know. Maybe the innkeeper just had a strange smile. Or Jason could just be imagining things out of paranoia. His purse jiggled merrily at his side, still considerably lighter than before. "Come on, I want to get some food. I'm hungry."

He walked over to the dining area, finding it by the smell of beer and food and the sound of happy chatter with Jason only a half step behind him. The floorboards creaked loudly underneath his boots, and that made him wonder what it had been like for these people—men, women, children—to have Roman soldiers come and seize their village under the Caesar's orders. Terrifying was the word that came to his mind. The men with arrows, dressed in red tunics and armor, brandishing torches that burned homes to the ground, their feet trampling over grain and places where people slept. Probably killing livestock just for the fun of it, and taking women with them to do whatever they pleased. Maybe they even took children with them as slaves for their farms.

 _Disgusting._ That was another word.

"It's full," Jason complained as they halted at the door. Percy observed the room quickly. Men were drinking and eating as they talked and laughed. No women or children. All the wooden tables had occupants at them.

He heard Jason's stomach rumble. He had to bite a smile back, though the urge disappeared when his stomach growled as well.  _Great,_ he thought.  _I'm hungry too and there's nowhere to sit._

"Percy, look," Jason nudged his arm and tilted his head away from him. He followed his gaze, and saw a group of four men sitting at a round table, waving at them. Well, he was pretty sure it was him and Jason, since they were the only two standing up. "They're motioning us over."

Jason moved first, easily slipping between chairs and dodging women serving beer like he was a fish instead of a human. Or maybe a snake. Percy had to wait a few moments for the barmaids to pass, and he constantly apologized whenever he bumped into a chair. By the time he got at the table, Jason had already sat and was talking to one of the men.

"Thanks," he said as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Jason.

"No problem son. We let straggles like you two in with our table all the time." A bearded man with a chipped tooth told him. He took a deep draft of his drink then held his hand out. "Name's Saul."

"Percy." He took it and shook.

"And I'm Jason."

"My daughter's name is Jasmine," the youngest man said, turning to face them. He looked a year or two older than him, and he wore corrective lens.

"Not again Samuel," another man groaned. He had an X shaped scar on his forehead. "You're always talking about her."

"How can you be tired of my little princess already?!"

"Ignore them," the man who sat next to him said, and Percy faced him. He had gray eyes that looked like Annabeth's, though they were different in some way. Not as alive? Warmer? "We call the grumpy one Nathanial. I'm Malcolm by the way."

He smiled. "It's nice to see someone like him. I wish my father talked about me more. I always got the sense he was ashamed of me when I was younger." He held his hand out and they shook.

"I can relate to that. I never knew my mother, but my father and stepmother more than made up for that." Malcolm laughed a little as he rubbed the back of his head. "Where are you from? Your accent is almost aristocratic."

"I can say the same for you. And I'm from Athens."  _That came rather easily._

"Athens?" Saul sounded interested. "Wasn't the Heir Apparent from there?"

"Which one?" Samuel asked, and the others laughed. Percy chuckled a little nervously and picked at the edge of his sleeve. A barmaid came over and gave him and Jason the wine he ordered. Malcolm raised an eyebrow.

"Did you preorder that with Augustus?"

"Yes." He took a sip of it and nearly cringed at the overly sweet taste. Maybe he should have gotten a beer. "Why?"

Saul laughed. "He always overcharges folks who come from out of town."

"Oh?" Jason asked, his tone curious. Percy looked at him, a little surprised he was speaking up. "How much is wine usually?"

"Hmm, around seven or eight denarii usually," Malcolm answered casually.

"WHAT?!" Percy echoed. He wanted to slam his head against the table. There  _had_ been something fishy about that man; he knew it! He just got swindled! And he probably won't get his money back either.

"Ah, Old Man Augustus strikes again," Saul said sympathetically. "He charged an arm and a leg for the room too, didn't he?"

"Two hundred denarii total." Percy muttered under his breath, his mind spinning and racing as he tried to estimate how much he overspent. Seven denarii for one person… fourteen total instead of forty, and the fish was the same so fourteen, which made a total of twenty-eight…. He probably should have spent around sixty denarii, including the room, instead of two hundred. Maybe. That was over fifty percent difference! In fact, it was somewhere between sixty and seventy…

"He wouldn't have to if those damn Romans didn't come and destroy us financially," Nathanial slammed his hand against the table, making the glasses shake.

"Nathanial," Samuel said in a warning tone. He adjusted his glasses.

"No, Samuel. I'm sick of them taking  _our_ land,  _our_ money and our people! That general took my daughter, and you know what? And then when she was allowed to come back, she never spoke and three months later I found out she was pregnant! Gods only know what they did to her…"

Percy closed his eyes, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach and dizzy. All he could think about was how awful that was and then what  _general_ did that, because he knew sure as Tartarus that that wasn't honorable.  _What are we, monsters? No wonder people hate us._

"Who knows what else they've been doing to the girls and boys they take with them too." Saul's voice was quiet. "At best they work at the farms as manual labor in the sun. Worse…"

"It makes me worry about my daughter. She's only one now, but they usually take the children when they're ten or eleven." Samuel added on. Percy opened his eyes once he felt like he wasn't going to vomit. "And they grow so fast…"

"I don't want to talk about it." Malcolm sighed.

"Why not?" Nathanial asked aggressively. "You can't be in denial after everything Tarentum has—"

"My  _sister_ married the Heir Apparent. Don't you  _dare_ talk to me about being in denial."

 _Sister? Heir Apparent?_ For a moment, Percy didn't understand what was just revealed to him. He was the Heir Apparent, and he was married to Annabeth, which meant that  _Annabeth_ had to be his sister, but that couldn't be possible, because Annabeth would have told him she had a brother. Right?

 _It's not like you told her your mother died in a shipwreck, your first fiancé was murdered brutally, one of your closest friends is a former addict to opium (and he is coincidentally the praetor) and you had dreams of her before you met._ A voice inside of his head reminded him. It sounded like Reyna.

 _That's not something that just comes up in the conversation though,_ he argued with his inner Reyna.

 _Oh right, like having a brother would come up casually in a conversation. "By the way Percy, I have a brother who I left back at in Athens and currently lives in Tarentum." I'm sure your reaction to_ that _would be so understanding._

He decided to drop the argument. She would always win an argument, imaginary or real.

"Let's just drop it, okay?" Samuel echoed. "This isn't something that is going to be solved by us. We need someone like a general to take pity on our village, and the likelihood of that happening is like Zeus and Hades deciding to drink fine wine while catching up with the finer points of life. What we need is a miracle, or a hero."

Everyone scoffed and Saul said, "If you want to get something done, you have to do it yourself. No one in Roma will help us. Admit it: we're alone in this."

"Your meal is here," the barmaid announced airily, disrupting the silence that fell on the table after Saul's statement. Everyone made a little movement, as though they had been in a trance. Percy knew he felt like he was just waking up from one.

"So, why are you in Tarentum?" Samuel asked more cheerfully, but Percy couldn't get his words out of his head.  _I have a daughter. They take children when they're ten or eleven. We need a miracle, or a hero._

"To investigate some rumors," Jason spoke up, and Percy realized that the silence went on for a moment too long. He shook his head in an effort to clear it.

"Oh, you mean the shadow pillars by Seacliff?" Malcolm sounded surprised. "Not many come here if they heard of those. They say they're cursed."

"You think they aren't?" Percy asked as a waitress placed his fish down in front of him. He reached for the fork, not really thinking about the way he held it. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"Of course I think they are cursed. They're from the gods probably. I want to look at them, but I haven't figured out a way to convince my fiancé to let me go."

Saul laughed and said, "She's got you around her small finger, that one." Malcolm smiled a little sheepishly and leaned back as the barmaid put his dish down. He smiled up at her before digging in.

"You'd do anything to keep your woman happy."

Percy snorted and said, "Especially if she's temperamental."

"You're engaged?" Samuel looked surprised. "You're quite a far way from home if you're engaged."

"Actually I'm married."

"Ah, so she kicked you out." Saul said wisely. He shook his head quickly, because he  _knew_ Annabeth would find out if he implied she kicked him out… even though she did it often enough that it didn't really matter anymore.

"No. She wanted me to get her some rare book from Rome, and told me I can't come back unless I got it."

Jason laughed under his breath. "You're trying to teach her Latin? You're terrible at reading in Latin."

"Greek. I'm teaching her Greek." He reminded him irritably. "And I'm very good at reading Latin texts, thank you very much. She'll be better than I am by the time we get back too."

Jason turned to Malcolm and pointed at Percy with his knife. "His wife is scary smart. She learned to read what took me a year a  _week_ after he started to teach her. Not only that, but she's able to teach herself how to write! Well, tried to anyway."

"Sounds like my sister," Malcolm answered with a fond smile. "Annabeth was always yelling at her father to let her learn, but he denied her that right. She wasn't able to do anything about it too, since she'd be hanged at the stake for going against the King's orders."

 _So, it_ is  _Annabeth… I'm probably going to have to ask her about that._

"Ouch."

Percy took a small bite of his fish even though he felt full so that they wouldn't try to include him in the conversation. He knew it had been bad in Greece, but to have her life threatened and yet  _still_  want to learn… she was much braver than he gave her credit for. Though he still didn't know how she had been so naïve when he first met her. Or was she even as naïve as she seemed back then?

"So yeah, we're going to Seacliff tomorrow to look at the ruins." Jason said, even though Percy didn't remember discussing that with him.  _Must be telepathy. I_ knew  _we were telepathic, even though Reyna didn't believe me when I told her. Or he could just be reading my mind again. I'm convinced there's a way to mind read people… I just have to figure it out._

"Is it all right if I go with you?" Malcolm asked. "I've wanted to look at them for a while. I can tell Neisa I'm showing them the way and she won't be able to argue, since she  _hates_ backing out when she gives her word."

"Insane," Nathanial scoffed. Malcolm stuck out his tongue.

"Scared?"

"No. Just smart. You're asking for trouble, young man."

"Grumpy."

"Quiet."

Percy smiled then he nodded at Malcolm. "Sure. We'll leave at dawn." Jason groaned quietly, but he ignored him. Malcolm smirked.

"My specialty."

* * *

"Percy?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll change things. Don't let what they said get to you."

Percy rolled over. "I'm not," he answered, but it was a lie. They had gotten to him in a way that had shaken him at his core. What kind of country did he live in when  _rape_ was not a crime?

 _My mother had me when she was young… no older than fifteen. Maybe…_ He shook his head and sighed as he looked up at the moon. He wondered if Annabeth was looking at it as well.

Maybe his mother had been in the same position as Annabeth once… and knowing his father… It made his stomach churn just thinking about it. His father was everything but understanding, and he somehow doubted he really would have cared or waited if his mother had been terrified out of her mind. Like Annabeth. Or maybe Annabeth was just the exception.

A part of him hoped so. She had been the best person he ever knew, and he knew he wasn't biased in that opinion. She taught him so many things about life and honor, but now he wondered if she taught him enough…

_I wonder who really is more naïve; Annabeth, or me?_

"Percy."

"What?"

"Go to sleep."

"…Fine."


	27. Capvt XXVII: The Infinity Symbol

Capvt XXVII: The Infinity Symbol

* * *

 

 **THEY** left Tarentum after the sun broke over the cliffs and traveled west until the sun was halfway to high noon. The more Malcolm talked, the more he reminded Percy of Annabeth—though there were obvious differences. Like how he didn't point out the obvious or picked an argument with Percy.

He actually kind of missed arguing with her… Okay, so he missed arguing with her a lot more than he expected he would. She was one of the few people who could actually make a sound argument. Not that he would tell her that, since she would get a big head.

"How much further?" Jason asked again.

"I don't know," Malcolm replied. "I know we're close."

Percy rolled his eyes. "You're worst than a woman," he muttered under his breath. He pulled his sword off and tossed it to Jason, who caught it deftly. His friend stared at it for a moment, and Percy turned in a full circle, looking for a suitable tree with enough handholds and footholds to climb.

 _There._ Satisfaction wormed its way from his stomach to his chest, like a warm, bubbly liquid. A huge tree—easily over a hundred years old—loomed above him, towering over the palms and trees that dropped needles and cones. Its trunk was red and its leaves were turning brown and yellow and a muted red, unlike the other trees back in Roma, which usually stayed green all the time. He walked over to it briskly, his strides sure and confident. The branches hung low and thick, so he jumped and hauled himself up.

"Zeus! Are you a monkey or what?!" Malcolm sounded surprised. Percy wondered what a monkey was. He had heard the name from somewhere… weren't they from that exotic place with the spices? India?

"Actually, I think he's a lizard."

Percy rolled his eyes as he reached up for a higher branch and hauled himself up. He hadn't done this in a few years, but his sense of balance had always been good and he didn't mind heights. Maybe he would have joined the circus if he hadn't been Heir Apparent.

"Is that even safe?"

"Not really. But if anyone can climb a tree and not get hurt, it's him. He's been climbing trees longer than I have known him—actually, I think he's been climbing them since he was seven or eight, according to Reyna."

"Three!" He corrected, unable to help himself. It annoyed him to no end when people got their facts wrong; it was like they didn't bother with properly researching the matter in question. He grunted as he slipped a little, but luckily, he had already caught the other branch. They were beginning to grow thinner, and they dipped with his weight which caused his heart to jump in his throat every time that happened.  _Tartarus,_ why did he never think things through half of the time when it came to his personal safety? It was his one, major flaw!

"Reyna?" Malcolm's voice drifted up to him, and he wondered how he was still able to hear them. He was probably at least half way in the air, though he didn't dare look down. He remembered how he and Reyna would rescue cats that climbed into trees. Those were the days, before Jason had entered their lives and his feelings for Rachel had been simple back then. Well, simpler. Things had never been simple with Rachel. It was one drama after the other with her, though she always had been there when it counted.

"…fiancé…"

"…praetor…"

Percy stopped trying to listen in on their conversation after that. Their voices were too faint and he had to concentrate fully on not slipping or breaking a branch so that he could get to the top of the tree. As soon as he got up, he would be able to see. Malcolm had said that there were black pillars, so he doubted he would miss the location they had to go. Surely, they were close to the spot by now.

_I know I was reading the map right. At least, I'm pretty sure I was…_

_You haven't read a map in years,_  his inner Reyna informed kindly. He rolled his eyes as he hauled himself over another branch. It dipped and swayed precariously, causing him to hold his breath.

 _Please don't break, please don't break, please don't break…_ He pleaded with the tree. Hopefully, it would stay strong. He always had good luck… or maybe he just had a good head on his shoulders. He usually thought things through. Somewhat.

 _I really don't want to break an arm or a leg,_ he told the tree as the limbs kept lowering and swaying. The wind was stronger up her as well. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was about to burst out of his chest. Then, miraculously, the branch stopped dipping lower and the wind didn't knock him off. He released the air he was holding in, and his muscles slackened and then went lax.

Only a few more feet, he realized when he craned his neck back so that he could look up. The canopy of the tree was only a few feet high. That was why the branch was so unstable. He could make it.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm his racing heart, he pulled himself up the last few limbs without much incident—though he slipped once, but luckily he was already holding on the higher branch. He broke through the forage. Sunlight blinded him for a moment, and he closed his eyes for a few moments then opened them and squinted. It was odd that the sun was out during the season when leaves turned colors and fell.

Once his vision cleared, he scanned the surroundings.  _Beautiful,_ was a word for it. In the north, he could see purple mountains jutting into the sky, their peaks already topped with that cold white stuff that had fallen in Roma last spring. In the south, he could see the glistening silver sea and the ships coming in from various trading ports. He wondered which country were they from; India, China or Carthage? Maybe even Macedon or the City-State of Athens? Or— he shook his head, so that he wouldn't go off on a tangent like Annabeth sometimes did. The sea wrapped around to the east (or was that west? The sun was in the center of the sky), and he could see the ebb and flow of the tide against the shoreline. Well, more like sensed it.

 _So much water,_ he thought as he watched the sea for a few moments.  _It's amazing how it rarely floods the earth. I guess there really is a balance to everything._

And then something caught his attention. On a shore close to where they were, a thin spear of darkness—no, a pillar of blackness cut into the sky, seemingly entering the heavens, even though that wasn't possible. Unless the gods sent it. The sea around it was rough and turbulent and a sickly, green color. It made him feel dizzy just looking at it, and he knew he had found it. The place the townsfolk called wrong.

 _Queer all right,_ he thought as he rubbed his forehead. He yanked his gaze away from that area, and the headache resided.  _Odd._

He shook his head, but then he nodded. It was time to get moving again—they had to head west, before the sun set. So, he slid down the trunk, being careful not to slip and fall to his demise. He would  _not_ have his grave read,  _Here lies Heir Apparent Perseus, who fell off a tree and broke his neck._ Annabeth would probably drag him back from the Underworld and kill him again just for having such a meaningless death. Actually, she'd probably chop him into tiny pieces, burn them, then she would spit on the ashes.

 _Or maybe she'll just be really sad,_ his inner-Reyna snapped. He wasn't sure which was worst, since one time of seeing Annabeth sad was enough. He didn't want to see more, let alone be the cause of it.

And Roma wouldn't have a ruler after his pater died…

"Did you find anything?" Jason asked as he dropped down to the ground, still mercifully alive. Percy had decided that his thoughts were strange creatures and he would never listen to them again. Or, at least, when he was in the middle of doing something potentially life threatening he wouldn't listen to them.

"We need to go more west." He said, and then he frowned. "It's strange."

"Here we go again," Jason muttered. Percy ignored him.

"What's strange?" Malcolm asked.

"Well, it looks like there are several pillars jutting out into the sky. They're black, and there seems to be no ending or starting point. I really don't know how to explain it."

"How many are there?" Jason sounded curious, and Percy wondered what was bouncing around in his head. While he was better at thinking up strategies than he was, Jason was better than he was at connecting the dots.

"Seven."

"Hmm…"

"What?"

Jason tapped his chin, glaring at his feet like they had done him some great injustice. Percy had to bite back the urge to ask him if his feet had failed him. The last time he had said something along those lines, Jason had ignored him for at least seven sunsets and he really hadn't liked that. Mostly because Reyna had yelled at him every chance she got for hurting Jason's feelings, which made him feel guilty, especially when Rachel backed her up.

"Well, seven is a powerful number, especially in the Olympians."

"I thought it was three." Malcolm spoke up. Jason shook his head.

"For quests mostly. But seven is just as dangerous, because that is the number their enemies choose—like that prophecy that states seven demigods will save the world."

Percy winced. "I almost feel bad for them, since that prophecy predicts the end of the world."

"It's definitely a prophecy that I don't want to be in, let alone any of my children." Malcolm said. "I still don't understand why the Olympians can't get their asses together and help themselves, instead of leaving their problems for their children to fix."

Percy shrugged helplessly, and it was Jason who replied. "They can't fix their problems on their own. Apparently, there is some pact which states they cannot interfere with each other's affairs."

Malcolm frowned. "Even when they have enemies like Kronos or Gaea or the Protogenoi? Because I guarantee they won't follow that pact."

Jason blew air through his nose. "Believe me when I say the Olympians are, at best, questionable. But at least they don't want to eradicate us mortals."

Malcolm only shrugged, and Percy traded a look with Jason who just tilted his head with a longsuffering expression. Like that old adage went, people only changed when they wanted to change. Well, something like that anyway.

"Let us go," he commanded softly. "I'd like to be back in Tarentum before nightfall."

Jason leered at him. "Please tell me you don't still believe in night crawlers, Percy."

"There is no evidence to prove they don't exist." He declared, adapting his Heir Apparent voice. He lifted his chin in the air and looked down his nose at Jason, even though he was at least several inches taller than he was. "And until there is, it is better to be safe than sorry."

"That look really doesn't work when you act so immaturely."

"Yes, Jason. Thank you for your astounding observation. I shall always keep it in my heart, so that in the future I will remember not to use it when I behave childishly, if I ever do."

"You're welcome!"

* * *

"Well, that's different." Jason deadpanned.

Percy stared up at the columns, or what he thought were columns. They towered over him and the other two with no end in sight, a strange star like shape with seven points instead of five. But that wasn't the strangest thing about it either. They were black, but the blackness… felt  _alive._ It felt more like shadows or, well, darkness.

He really had no idea how to describe them.

"Do we really have to go down there? It makes me nervous." Malcolm muttered. Percy nodded without considering it.

"I want to see if there are any clues on what these…  _objects_ are. They're too strange to  _not_ be curious about." And then he paused and stared at Malcolm. The man's eyes were fixed on one of the columns, or pillars, and his lips had thinned so much that they weren't even visible. And his shoulders and legs were trembling. "Can you start walking down to the shoreline? We don't really need three people looking at these. We'll join you soon."

Malcolm smiled at him, a grateful look in his eyes, but he shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I'm a little curious myself, I must admit." And his eyes hardened into steel, an expression that was eerily similar to Annabeth that Percy had to remind himself it wasn't his wife…

Then he paused as he realized what he just thought and shuddered.  _Ewww._

He glanced back at the pillars, and frowned as he tilted his head. Strange, they looked like the ones in Sparta, that were clear enough he could see through them. The only reason he knew they were there was because he had run into one by accident.

In silence, Percy turned and led the way down. The other two fell neatly behind him, with Malcolm in the middle and Jason in the rear. He trailed his hand over the boulders, running over the grooves and small ledges, as a balance as he jumped from one to another.

It was more difficult than he expected to get down there. It wasn't very likely many men would be willing to risk getting hurt to look at the abominations, which may have been why the culprit had placed them in this remote area. It was the perfect place to plan some nefarious deed, and then to act on it.

When he looked out, he saw something silvery in the distance. The ocean probably. And not far from where they were, was a rushing gorge. Whoever had put those pillars there definitely didn't want someone to stumble on them accidentally.

"Percy?" Jason asked, and then he hissed. When Percy turned around, Jason was moving his arms in a tiny circle, like he was trying to catch his balance after he just lost it. Jason breathed out in relief and smiled at Percy, a relieved glint in his eyes. "I think we should go around."

"Right." He nodded. "Follow me."

"Like we can do anything different." Malcolm drawled. Percy tossed an easy smile over his shoulder, wondering yet again why Annabeth never talked about Malcolm.

"Exactly."

When they reached the gorge, Percy gritted his teeth, and leapt from one bolder to another over the water. It wasn't that he was afraid of water, he just didn't really fancy falling and breaking his neck. Maybe even possibly dying.

"Close now," Jason muttered. "Only a little more and then we'll be there..."

"We know." Percy threw his left arm out when he wobbled over toward the right side, and leaned forward. He leapt onto the next bolder, and thankfully put down both of his feet. "It's right there."

And it was on the other side of the gorge. They just had to get there first.

_Just a little further…_

* * *

He made it. Percy breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped onto the hard ground, away from the rushing, bubbling gorge where water churned, trying to leap up and suck him deep down under.

Malcolm yelped, and he whirled around just in time to see the rock he just leapt off crumble into the water. For a moment, it looked like Malcolm was floating over the water as his wide eyes locked with his and then…

_SPLASH!_

Immediately, without even thinking about it, Percy tore off his sandals and leapt into the water.

The first thing he noticed was that the water was  _freezing._ He was  _so_ going to get frostbite or something along those lines. The second thing he noticed was that the water kept pulling (or pushing) him underneath the surface, and the edges of his vision began to darken.

No. He would find Malcolm, he was not going to panic and drown, because that would be a stupid way to die and Annabeth wouldn't be very happy with him.

He kicked out, and swum under the water, forcing him arms to work against the current. He saw a bob underneath him, so he positioned his body and swum toward it. As he grew closer, he saw that it was a body—hopefully Malcolm's. So he kicked out and swum toward him. His lungs had begun to ache, but he couldn't go up yet.

As he reached him, he noticed that Malcolm was still kicking. Good, so it was Malcolm and he was still alive. Malcolm stared at him with wide eyes when he appeared, and Percy only swum closer to him and wrapped his arm around his chest. And then he angled his body toward the surface, where the light streamed down.

And then he kicked up, toward the surface. Immediately, the current somehow seemed to  _help_ him go up, though he had no idea how that worked, and he felt Malcolm kick with his legs much more feebly. Most Romans didn't even know how to swim, and his lungs were burning and his vision was darkening—

But it was so close, and he was  _not_ going to die. So he kicked harder, trying to  _will_ himself to move and he—

So… close…

_Air! I need air!_

And then his head broke through the water, and he gasped and heaved in a large lung full of air. He immediately kicked out for the bank, hauling the spluttering Malcolm behind him. Jason was running too, he noticed, and when he got close to the shore, he held his hand out. So, Percy took it, and Jason pulled them out of the water.

"That was the stupidest thing you have done in a while. You could have been hurt!" Jason looked like an angry mother, with his eyes piercing and his arms crossed—or like Reyna, when she was annoyed. Percy didn't feel guilty though, and he only tilted his head back so that he could lock his gaze with Jason's. Malcolm sat up.

"What? I was supposed to let him drown?"

Jason's fingers twitched, like they were itching to wrap around his neck and strangle him, but he only did a strange growling sound and threw his hands in the air. He muttered, "You and your stupid nobility." before he stomped away. Percy smiled and stood up, wringing some water out of the clothes. There was nothing he could do for his hair, unless he wanted to give away he could manipulate water somehow… and he didn't trust Malcolm enough to do that.

"Percy?" Malcolm spoke up. He turned around and tilted his head, a little confused by the strange tone. Was it a little shy? Or surprised?

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He smiled. "You're welcome."

* * *

The rest of the journey toward the pillars was easy. Jason didn't fall and break his neck on the boulders, Malcolm didn't slip and fall into the (nonexistent) gorge, and Percy didn't twist his ankle on the rocks. He wished he had his boots, but that would give away the fact that he was at least nobility, since peasants couldn't afford to buy leather.

 _I should have gone here officially,_ he thought a little sourly.  _Then I could have worn something on my feet… and then I could have possibly been assassinated._

That was the crux of the matter. He knew most people in Tarentum didn't support royalty—in fact, they held a grudge. He couldn't really blame them either, since _Roman_ soldiers had stomped over their streets and dug their graves, burning their town to the ground.

 _Tyranny,_ that was the word for it. What his pater had done. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he wanted to dismiss it, but he forced himself to actually think about it logically. What his pater was doing would look like tyranny to the people, and maybe it was tyranny. His pater kept telling Percy that the population were happy and well taken care of. But then… why were the houses in Tarentum in shambles, while the castle and aristocracy were tall and strong and beautiful?

Maybe part of it was because no one was educated, so they didn't know how to actually use the money his pater sent to them to repair their houses and the roads _._

"Malcolm? How many men on average receive an education?"

He could just  _feel_ Jason giving him a strange look, that sixth sense tingling as it always did whenever someone stared at him outside of a crowd.

"Not many," Malcolm spoke, sounding thoughtful. He grunted a little, as though he was straining against something, and then let out an exhale of relief. "I'd say maybe five percent of the population receives an education, and that's usually just the elite. I don't think the Caesar wants us mortals to rebel against him." His tone was dripping with sarcasm—or bitterness—and Percy clenched his jaw.

So, that was axed out. Apparently, they didn't even receive educations here. So, if he couldn't think an alternative reason, then that would only leave a dictatorship and Percy wasn't sure he liked that. Granted, there had been dictators before there were Caesars in times of war, but they had usually been released within four years maximum.

 _I miss being a child,_ he thought glumly. The good guys had been good, and the bad guys had been bad. There had been no gray or in-between back then.

Then, someone inhaled sharply and Percy jerked his head back. The black pillars. Up close.

The first thing he noticed was that they were made out of some type of smoky substance—almost like they were shadows, but they were a little more solid. And there was something familiar about them, and the way they sat in this ditch, but that didn't make any sense because he knew he would have remembered these if he had seen them before. Not just because of the ones back in Sparta either. There was something else…

"I don't really like this place too much," Percy muttered.

"You're telling me. This place reminds me of a pit a gang threw me into once," Jason's voice was tensed. Percy felt a little surprised he was talking about his past freely around Malcolm—they really didn't talk about it much amongst themselves, simply because it only brought up bad memories in him.

"A gang?" Malcolm sounded a little amused. "What did you do to get on their bad side?"

Jason didn't respond. Percy could imagine any number of things he did to get on the bad side of some street gang. Stole money, drugs, rival gangs, just shelter and water… Jason had once described it as being like a gutter rat; you were stuck, and you didn't know if you were going to survive to see the next sunrise.

Shaking his head, he reached out and touched the pillar. It was both icy and burning, and he drew his hand back quickly, hissing through his teeth. His eyes watered somewhat. When he flipped his palm over, it was a shiny, red color.

 _Ow,_ he thought, gritting his teeth. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and tied it around his hand, but he needed cold water to soothe it…

"What happened?" Malcolm sounded worried. He quelled the urge to snap at him and forced himself to take a deep breath.

"I touched it. Kind of stupid, really." His tone was steadier than he had anticipated, and Malcolm cringed.

"I know it sounds a little silly, but this place feels dirty—like it's been tainted by some type of dark magic." Jason spoke up as he came around one of the pillars. He noticed he didn't get close to it—at least no one else was going to repeat his mistake. "You two may want to see this. One of you may recognize it. I found some aloe too, by the way."

"Great." He didn't mean for his tone to sound so sarcastic, but the burning feeling was beginning to grow worse. It felt like when he got flogged, except not as bad… and at least it wasn't an open wound.

He followed the two men around a bend, and heard them muttering something about Gaea and giants. She had been the most recent threat they—demigods, he meant, not mortals like him—had fought, a couple thousand years ago. His hand was steadily growing worse, and he realized that he was going to have to find something to soothe it if he didn't want to become incapacitated. He could just see the history documents right now.

_Tarentum, Autumn 176 BC:_

_Praetor Jason and Heir Apparent Perseus arrived in Tarentum on the fifteenth day of the ninth month. On that day, they met a man and they decided to explore the surrounding terrain for the mysterious phenomenon. On the sixteenth day of the ninth month, they left and found themselves amongst seven pillars the color of onyx. Stupidly, Heir Apparent Perseus shoved his hand inside the pillar and burnt it…_

Oh, Annabeth would  _never_ let him forget that. After she kissed him and bandaged it, but that was another matter entirely. Actually, he'd rather just kiss her because she was  _really_ good at kissing… and he always felt like smiling when he was around her for some reason.

 _Lover boy,_ a voice that sounded like Grover informed him. He shoved it into the back of his mind, though now he was remembering all the times Grover had teased him about courting Rachel when he was younger… he really hadn't talked to him much lately. He'd been preoccupied with Annabeth.

 _I need to amend that,_ he thought.  _I'll say hello next time I see him and force him to sit with me for lunch. He always has enjoyed those sausages._

" _Percy_!" Jason sounded exasperated, and Percy blinked at the onslaught of  _tentacles_ in his face. "Finally! Here's your aloe." And he shoved it into his chest, and Percy caught the tentacles before they fell on the ground. No, not tentacles—just aloe strands. He immediately pulled off the makeshift bandage and placed the cool, slimy end on the swelling, hot skin. It was going to blister too.

"Here it is!" Jason sounded a little thrilled, and he pocketed the rest of the aloe. Who knew when he was going to need it, and he somehow got the feeling he could not get a servant or slave to chip off some ice in this part of the country.

So, he walked up to Jason and Malcolm, who stood around a tiny, figure… something.

It was shaped like two small, interconnected circles, written in what looked like liquid sunlight in the ground. He heard Malcolm inhale sharply.

"I've seen that before—in Athens."

"That's the infinity symbol!"

"The  _what_ now?" He turned toward Jason, who had just babbled something about infinity. Jason looked a little surprised.

"You never heard of it before? What about the concept of forever?"

The questions were quickly uttered, like Jason was growing excited. Percy held his hand up to stall any more babbling, because he knew how Jason got when he was excited, and he wanted to answer his question properly.

"No. I've never even  _seen_ this… thing. And I have heard about the concept of forever. That's when people think the world is never going to end, right?"

"Kind of," Malcolm supplied, sounding a little calmer than Jason. "It's more like always— the world is never going to end, your love for someone is everlasting, the gods will live until the end of time, etcetera."

"Hold on," Jason frowned. "Doesn't your wife have one of those on her wrist? With laurels surrounding it?"

"Huh?" He asked intelligently. Annabeth didn't have anything on her wrist—he would know. Probably. Jason shook his head.

"Never mind. She had been shaking Autorius' hand, so it must have been a trick of the light."

"You have a  _wife?_ What are you doing out here then? I thought you said you were a traveler."

Percy wanted to pinch the area between his eyes, but he didn't want to release the aloe against his burn so he settled for only sighing loudly. Too many people talking at once.

"Yes, I have a wife. I'm actually in the Roman Army—" Jason let out something that sounded somewhere between a groan and grumble. "—and I am a traveler. I'm here, aren't I?" He smiled widely at Malcolm, who looked a little dazed.

"You're actually  _nice_ and you're a soldier. Is he in the legion as well?" He pointed at Jason, and Jason shook his head while Percy nodded. Malcolm's lips twitched. "Good to know. You're both decent men, so I guess I won't begrudge your profession."

"Thank you," he said wryly.

"I like how you just gave away my deepest, darkest secret." Jason hissed to him in an undertone when Malcolm walked away a few steps. Percy raised an eyebrow.

"Aren't you being a tad overdramatic? I didn't tell him which position you're in."

"Like that's any better. As far as I know, I'm the  _only_ Jason in the legion, and it won't be hard to connect the dots after that."

"By then, we'll be back in Roma so don't worry about it."

"Not worry, my as—"

"I really don't like this," Malcolm interrupted, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared up at the pillars. "These are the work of the gods, and they rarely have the welfare of us mortals in mind."

Percy walked up next to him and tilted his head back so he could look at the sky. "You have that right." He muttered, thinking of how he had been told his mother died.  _Lost at sea, caught out in a sudden typhoon. Never arrived in Sparta…_

He shook his head. "Let's get out of here. I still want to look at the ocean before we start trekking back to Tarentum."

"I drew an outline of the pillars and the Infinity Symbol, Percy." Jason said as he held out the sketchbook. "You can fill it in later, since you're better at detailing than I am."

"Sure," he said casually, putting it into the bag. "I'll do it later."


	28. Chapter 28

**A Crown of Golden Leaves**  
by xXTheDragonRiderXx  
August 2015

* * *

"All causes shall give way: I am in blood  
Stepp'd in so far that, should I wade no more,  
Returning were as tedious as go o'er."

-William Shakespeare, _Macbeth_

* * *

Capvt XXVIII: Digging for the Bones  
(Alternatively: Diggin' For Dem Bones)

* * *

 **THE** instant Percy could see the ocean, he knew something was wrong with it. The first tip off to his deduction was that he couldn't hear the cry of seagulls; another was that the ocean was this strange, sickly, green color— like it had been overrun with that stuff that grew on still lakes and bred mosquitoes. But that was impossible, because from his observations, the oceans was always moving, always changing.

Jason hissed under his breath, like he wanted to turn on his heel and run all the way back to Tarentum despite the long walk to see what they were looking at. Percy wasn't sure he would try to stop him— in fact, he might just chase after him.

"This place makes me sick to my stomach." Malcolm muttered under his breath. Jason murmured, not exactly agreeing, but not disagreeing either. Percy wanted to agree with Malcolm, but they couldn't because they had come this far, and he wasn't about to turn back now. Besides, his curiosity was greater than his fear—something that Reyna had often complained about when they were younger.

So he sighed, because he knew he would have to goad them all into marching on somewhat.

"You're not scared, are you?" He said. Malcolm rolled his eyes, but he shook his head to the contrary of his provocation. He had arrived to the conclusion that humans were prideful creatures thanks to all the scrolls he had read.

So they continued marching on. And on. And on...

* * *

No waves crashed. Instead, the water sucked and hissed, pulling back slowly and swelling, before slapping the rocks ahead of the tide's turning.

Percy's head spun just looking at it— he felt like it was going to pull him into the water— and bile rose in the back of his throat with a burning sensation. Gulping it back, he breathed in through his nose instead of his mouth. But instead of the tangy scent of salt water, he smelled decaying fish. It's odor was more like a lake, rather than the great big ocean. His head turned round and round in circles even faster than before, and the world lurched out from underneath his feet.

"Percy?" Jason sounded worried, and there was a feather light touch on his elbows. Probably steadying him, or maybe to catch him if he keeled over completely, Percy deduced. "Are you okay? Is the smell getting to you?"

"I'm fine," he lied through gritted teeth. He hated appearing weak to other people— especially his friends. He shook his head, but that only made his head spin worse and a pressure had begun to build up in there. He wanted to groan out loud—he felt like he was sick, only worse.

"Right." Jason didn't sound like he completely believed him, but he never called him out on it. He never did, and that was why he was his friend.

After some time had passed, and the dizziness had faded, Percy stood again. His head ached, but he pretended that nothing was wrong with him, so Jason and Malcolm wouldn't ask questions. He figured it was just a case of dizziness anyway, from the sudden change of climate. Besides, he was Heir Apparent—this was beneath him. He would squash away all human illnesses through sheer willpower, because he could.

Unfortunately, as they crossed over sand and pebbles, Percy realized that he might not be able to push this bout of nausea away through sheer human willpower, especially as the infernal dizziness grew worse. Malcolm swore loudly, suddenly, and Percy swung around just in time to see him slip and fall. Jason laughed.

"Bit of a klutz, Malcolm?" He hopped nimbly over to him, and Malcolm glared at him—it was like he was shooting ice daggers with his eyes.

"Shut up," he growled, and stood up without Jason's help. Something about that tickled in the back of his head— something about not liking their exchange; it was obvious to him that Jason was merely being playful. But it faded quickly when a voice whispered that there was something wrong with this place—even more so than with the crater, though he swore by Zeus he couldn't understand why. It confused him.

Malcolm pushed his nose up in the air and marched forward in front of Jason, brushing against him. Jason wobbled, but he caught his balance and he shook his head, a scowl forming on his face instead of his usual smile. A chill caught his heart then, because he never liked it when Jason got that look in his eyes. It reminded him too much of harsher times. But that thought slipped away too, because he was preoccupied on his funny feeling and pretending it didn't exist. They didn't seem to have any reservations, so he continued walking forward without mentioning it to either of them. There was no way he was going to draw attention to himself—he got enough of that in Roma.

They grew close, so close that Percy decided to take his sandals off to let the warm sand sift between his toes. He could see the scum growing on the water—if that was what it was, but it very much looked like it. His head was spinning so bad that he could hardly concentrate on anything, so he could very well be wrong about it.

"What is that green stuff growing on the surface?" Malcolm asked, his tone a little strange. Percy thought it sounded like he was annoyed with himself for not knowing what it was.

"Scum, I think. We have it on unmoving lakes," Jason explained softly. "It's some type of water disease, though none of us know what it is really. Maybe it's a curse from Lord Poseidon."

Percy stepped closer to the water, toward the edge. And then another. And another. The water here wasn't still—the tide kept churning and slapping the rocks, and it was so strange to him. That stuff only grew on still lakes, not the forever changing Mare Nostrum. It was like a conundrum, but of course he couldn't puzzle it out because his head felt like it was going to implode in on itself.

He pressed a hand against the side of his head. There was pressure building in his skull, like an incoming migraine. Or maybe like he was going deep down underwater—too deep, because mortals couldn't enter Poseidon's kingdom without grave consequences. That was what happened to his mater, after all.

I promised myself I would stop thinking of that, he grumbled mentally. I've done too much crying over her... Rachel too, for that matter. And my pater. But those don't matter.

It wasn't in his nature to be depressed—or maybe he just forced himself not to be depressed—but there were times when he found himself slipping. Like when he was sick or sad, or even just distracted. Though he noticed he'd done that a lot less with Annabeth. He was happier around her, actually. And that sort of scared him, but more than that, it made him feel... good. It was similar to what he felt toward Rachel —or still felt, in a way. He didn't really stop loving her, he had just placed it in a different place. Or maybe his heart just grew— but it was more mature. Maybe. He felt like he had to protect Annabeth, even though he would never directly voice that though out loud to her, because he knew she would take a limb off with her saber. He had to protect her, but the best way to do that was to give her what she wanted—and needed—and that made it scary and exciting.

And made his head spin too, for that matter. Or was that just how he felt physically right now?

Opening his eyes—when had he closed him?—he realized he stood on the edge of the ocean. It lapped at his feet, so horribly dark, reminding him of the hands of the Grim Reaper, trying to drag him deep down under into his watery grave. He wanted to step away—back, not forward—but he couldn't. He felt like he had been physically rooted in that one spot. He heard Jason and Malcolm arguing in the background, but not the words they were saying. The ocean was trying to drag him under the waves, but there was that stuff that grew on still water. None of it made any sense; the only logical conclusion that he could draw from all of this was that Poseidon was trying to destroy the ocean. Even though he held a personal vendetta against Poseidon, he couldn't see him purposely trying to destroy the sea because it was the only realm he had—not unless he had some greater goal.

Unless... maybe he was trying to take over Zeus' realm? But if he was, then he must have demigods working for him, and he didn't know of any who would willingly do that. Of course, the only demigods he knew of were Jason and Reyna —and maybe Annabeth, but she never had confirmed his suspicions, and he never asked— and he couldn't see them aiding a god to takeover another gods' realm. But then again, he knew next to nothing about politics among demigods, so it didn't—

A wave of dizziness overcame him, so great that he had to shut his eyes. There was a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and he inhaled and exhaled.

"Percy? Are you all right?" Malcolm sounded concerned now too. Wonderful. He was the bloody Heir Apparent of Roma, for Zeus' sake! Should he be able to fake that he wasn't so damn dizzy?

"Of course he's not all right, you bloody idiot!" Jason snapped, sounding close to his ear. "He's swaying for gods' sake!"

He forced his eyes to open and glared at Jason. Unfortunately, it didn't have the usual affect on him since he remained unmoved. "I'm fine," he ground out. "I just have a headache."

Apparently, irony had set out to prove him wrong. His head felt like it had just tore open with fire. Vomit rose in the back of his throat. His knees felt weak. He could hear a roaring sound, though he was positive it wasn't from the ocean.

And then, for a split second, there was nothing. Literally nothing. He couldn't feel anything, nor could he hear anything. His head felt dismembered. He couldn't taste the salt in the air. His fingertips weren't tingling. It was sheer, utter bliss for that moment to him, because nothing hurt. Even that very small ache in his chest that been present since his mater had died was gone.

Then, a woman was shouting. Or what he thought was a woman; because the agony in his head opened up again, and he grabbed it between his hands as he heard the other two shouting in panic.

"Get him away from the water!" The woman roared, and he could distinguish the words this time. He was confused, despite the pain, because why would he have to go away from the water when it kept drawing him to it? Calloused hands on his shoulders next, dragging him away, and he was tripping even as his chest was tightening so much it felt like Rachel had died all over again. Except, he didn't want to die, and that heavy cloud over his mind wasn't present, even though his head felt like it being torn apart by Goliath's bare hands—

And then he could hear it. The screaming. No, it wasn't screaming—it was cacophony, of begging and pleading and swearing and sobbing. The burning inside of his head rose to unprecedented levels, to sheer utter agony, pulling him down, away from reality and it just hurt so much—

Trapped, the voices were saying—at least, the ones that he could understand. Trapped in this decaying kingdom with nowhere to escape while Lord Poseidon is caught in the chains of death.

Free us! Please, free us now!

The ebb and flow—

It's killing us! It's choking us! Help us! Please!

Let us out letusout letusout

Percy wanted to respond to the voices —no matter how insane he sounded— but he physically couldn't move his mouth, let alone make the right vocal sounds to string together syllables and sentences. And he couldn't think straight, because of the agony, and he felt so damn guilty that it wasn't even sad.

And then they were fading away, and he lurched forward—trying to grab them, and he knew he was a masochist—there had to be something wrong with him for trying to bring them back. But they kept going away, and away, and away. So he let them go, because he couldn't do anything else.

The pain had dropped down to a "barely tolerable" level, and he was lying flat on something warm while hands were pressed against his chest, and knees were pressed against his thighs. It was rather uncomfortable, but the headache—or migraine, or mind explosion, he had no idea what it was—was worse, so it didn't register. There were people talking too, so he forced himself to ignore the pain for a moment, so he could listen.

"...You need to get the prince away. The sea is in turmoil, and with his connection to it... well..." That was a woman. The rest of her words faded with the wind, and he couldn't hear her anymore.

"What connection?" Someone asked, and he was almost positive it was Jason. But then the voices that had been repressed slowly began to build up again, the pressure making his skull throb. He was sure he was crying now, and it made his stomach curl because—by the gods—he hated crying more than he hated Poseidon. It always made him feel weak, especially when it was out of mere pain.

He pressed his head against the warm, soft ground, feeling the grainy texture against his eyes, his nose, his mouth. Going into his nostrils. His chest began to ache, but he didn't move because that agony was rising in him again. It was like there were a thousand souls trapped inside of his body, all of them yelling at him at the same time, all of them expecting his undivided attention. He screwed his eyes tighter, but they were attacking him—his head hurt so bad—

"I cannot answer that, child. It is not in my place."

"You're a naiad." An unfamiliar—no, familiar—voice spoke up, and he couldn't tell who it was. It wasn't Jason, that was for sure, because Jason wouldn't sound that stunned because he was praetor, and a demigod. There was silence, and the pounding pressure in his skull kept on building—growing bigger and worse and his vision was turning this strange reddish black color. He couldn't breathe either.

"What is wrong with the ocean anyway? Is his condition stable?"

"No. He is not stable. I can hear the other sea creatures even now, and it is only ten times worst for him. As for Atlantis... I do not know. My guess is that it has something to do with Pontus, the primordial sea god."

And then the voices burst through his skull again, this time accusing him of things he didn't want to think about. His heart ached—or was that just his chest—he heard someone from the outside world yell something, but he paid no mind to that.

Traitor, they were shrieking.

It's you duty! Others were screaming.

Why do you hesitate to free us?

Traitor, traitor, traitor

Where is your honor?

WHY ARE YOU NOT DOING YOUR DUTY?

He wanted to scream back at them, scream that his only duty was toward his country and his people, which was the Roman Empire. Scream that he had no other duty, to anyone or anything. That he had honor, that he wanted to help them, but he couldn't when they were incapacitating him.

Tidal wave, they were murmuring then. Going to kill the humans.

WHAT?! Percy shouted at them, this time able to form a coherent thought. There was silence, as though he had just shocked them, but he was too furious with them at that point. Too furious to actually care that he was shouting at voices inside of his head, possibly going insane while he was at it. WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

He speaks. The blessed one speaks. They were murmuring.

Poseidon favors him the most— even more than his own sons.

Percy's fury drained away and confusion roared in, but he couldn't ask them what they meant because he heard someone from the outside world—that unfamiliar, familiar male voice—screaming about a tidal wave. But that was impossible because tidal waves were only in the far east. Certainly not in Roma, because Roma was surrounded by land, and tidal waves happened when there was water.

And then it dawned on him that he was in Tarentum, which was surrounded by water on one side—not land—and tidal waves could happen in Tarentum.

Then Jason—he was sure it was Jason—was swearing, saying something about a coward, and Percy gritted his teeth, deciding that he had enough of being useless and in the dark, because he wasn't some bloody infant. So, miraculously, he managed to force his eyelids to open...

...Only to be welcomed by burning black fire in his eyes. Immediately, he clawed at them, to get the burning black fire away. Then someone else was peeling his hands away, and he felt tears spring into his eyes because— gods— it hurt so much. What in Tartarus was going on? — because this wasn't normal—it was like being flogged all over again, only ten times worse and he silently begged Thantos to just take his soul now and get it over with. Unless... but he couldn't be in Eternal Punishment. He knew he had done terrible, despicable things in his life, but he hadn't been ready to die. Not yet. He still had Roma. There were things he still wanted to do with his life, and that meant changing Roma so that slaves could become free men. Besides, what would his Pater do without an Heir?

"Percy, stop that. You're hurting yourself even worst." The voice belonged to Jason. Light. Goodness. He couldn't disobey that voice, because Jason was the only person who was more screwed up than him, and he knew good from evil even better than he did anyway. So he tried to pull his hands away from his eyes, even though that only made the burning worse. Something wet trickled into his eyes, and he knew it was water from the ocean. It made the burning worse and better at the same time, but everything hurt so much, even though the voices were gone miraculously.

He wasn't even sure what he'd done to deserve this torture. Surely he hadn't done something so horrible that he deserved this; because there had to be a reason for this. What goes around, comes around. But what had he done exactly to deserve this? He knew he had to be something...

Jason hissed under his breath, and then he heard a ripping sound— like fabric being torn. But he wasn't sure what it was exactly, because he was too busy focusing on not closing his eyes all the way again. He barely managed to keep them open.

"I like Annabeth way more than that coward," he was muttering. "That tsunami is—" and then he choked off, and Percy frowned, and opened his eyes all the way from a squint. The air burned even worse, but he pretended that was insignificant because Jason never, ever broke himself unless something had caught his attention. So, he followed Jason's transfixed, horrified expression to—

He forgot about the sand in his eyes —because that must be what it was—and stared at the wave, mouth agape. It towered over the tallest trees, ten times his height, a strange black-green color, seaweed and fish and plants in it. The water from the tide inched toward it with a sucking, roaring sound and he knew that was the roaring kept hearing earlier. The roar of the tidal wave. It drew closer to them steadily and quickly. Too quick—there was no way they were going to outrun it. There was no way he could outrun it, with the state he was in now. Jason on the other hand, he was sure could out run it. Maybe.

"I'm going to die." Jason then stated in a shrill voice. That prompted Percy to scramble onto his feet, despite the fact that he just wanted to lie there and give up— there was no way Jason was going to leave him there like a sitting duck. He was, first and foremost, a soldier. It just wasn't in his nature to abandon his future emperor. And Percy wasn't going to let Jason die, because he was his friend and subject, so he had to escape as well.

"Run!" He shouted—and regretted it when his head throbbed. He grabbed Jason's wrist and yanked him along behind him, taking off for the forest. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow— that was the only thing that went through his mind like a mantra with every step he took, but he would not complain about it. Because he wasn't sick, and he was not going to let Jason die. That wave on the other hand...

Adrenaline surged through his body then. His vision became sharper, because he saw every grain in the sand, and he heard every raspy gasp every time he stepped into the white sand, and his headache stopped throbbing as badly. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and bit back a swear—not because it was improper, but because he shouldn't waste his precious breath on cussing.

He looked back to the forest... it was so far away, and the wave was so close... but he had to get Jason to safety, and that meant he would have to get to safety first, and how in Tartarus did they not see that wave?

And then water was crashing all around them, and he felt terror chilling his veins as he thought, I am going to die. I don't want to die!

For a moment, he struggled uselessly against it, but it's icy tentacles had gripped his ankles. And so, it yanked him deep down under, into the fathomless, dark depths, away from the sun and the sky.

_Up next: Annabeth's POV. x3_


	29. Capvt XXIX: Through the Looking Glass

**A Crown of Golden Leaves**  
by xXTheDragonRiderXx  
September 2015

* * *

_"Sometimes, his methods and his motives are questionable and even his morals are questionable in the way he does things. But I think his intention is always to protect his [son]." -Victor Garber_

* * *

Capvt XXIX: Through the Looking Glass

**Annabeth**  
Rome, Autumn x176 BC

 **THE** problem with being nobility was the whispering, the rumors, the gossip about why her stomach hadn't begun to grow round. Some women claimed that she (and Percy) had lied about her virginity (which, technically, they had, but that was just details). Others accused her of miscarriage and she hadn't told anyone—which, honestly, she didn't understand. If she miscarried, wouldn't she have had to go to Meg the Physician?

Her stomach churned at the thought. She wanted to have children, but the idea of losing them… Besides, she wasn't entirely sure about  _when_ she wanted to have children. Part of her was still scared out of her wits at the idea of… well,  _that._ The idea of doing  _that_ with Percy. It terrified her and… weirdly enough, she wanted to…

 _Ergh!_ She stopped in the middle of the streets and shuddered, resisting the urge to stick her tongue out. She'd spent  _way_ too much time around Thalia and Luke. And Piper, for that matter.

The people grumbled as they knocked into her and parted around her. That was another problem with being Heir Apparent—there was no  _freedom_ to do as she pleased when she felt like she was going stir crazy in the castle. So, of course, she had been reduced to sneaking out through the maid's entrance… as a peasant…

Oh, she was probably going to get into  _so much_ trouble.

For a moment, Annabeth glanced over her shoulder at the palace, weighing going back versus walking forward. If she went back, she would be found out without accomplishing her purpose which was to go to the public library. She knew there were likely to be less resources than the one in the castle, but she still wanted to know… she had a suspicion lurking in the back of her mind, that somehow gods older than the Olympians were involved with this plot. If it was a plot, that is. Maybe she was just being overly paranoid.

She didn't think so.

So, Annabeth breathed in deeply and squared her shoulders. On to the bibliotheca then; she would deal with the consequences of her wandering later.

…Hopefully, Percy would never find out about this. Well, he  _was_ training her for a reason on how to use a sword, and she wasn't stupid enough to leave it in the castle.

 _You're not an expert,_ a voice reminded her. It sounded like Piper.  _You're a novice still._

_Shut up. I'll be fine so long as I don't draw attention to myself._

Why was she talking to the voices inside of her head? Wasn't that a sign of insanity or something?

* * *

That was how Annabeth found herself in the library later that day, looking up books about monsters and the gods with the small, dark skinned woman helping her.

The library, of course, was much smaller than the one she had found in the palace. That made sense, because the palace had more money to create the books. It was about the size as the one back home in Athens. The shelves reminded her of what Daedaelus' labyrinth  _must_ have looked like, and it made her wonder what the library in Alexandria looked like.

"Here is a book on the royal lineage and some smaller books about the originals." The woman said, walking back over to her with three large books in her arms. Annabeth stared at the size for a moment—she had never seen such  _big_ books, and she wasn't sure if she could read them at all—but she took them from the librarian anyway, because she wasn't about to give up before she even tried. She didn't miss the way the woman's eyes widened a little, as though she was surprised.

"Thank you."

"Y-you're welcome."

She bit her bottom lip, thinking about some of the other things she had heard of when those people were talking. "Do you have any books or scrolls on daimons?" She had seen that word once, in one of Percy's books. She had memorized how to spell it, even though she didn't know what it meant, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with ghosts. There were just too many things she didn't understand, and that made her mad. There was too much this world had to learn, and she couldn't learn how to read fast enough, let alone write.

_I want to know everything I can about this world, but I can't learn it fast enough._

She shook her head. First, she had to figure out what a blood seal was, and then she had to understand who or what Eris was _,_ and after that she would figure out what was going on with Nico and the "Shadow Lands." She didn't know why he seemed to  _afraid,_ when he was the bravest one out of them. After that, she could try to decode more Greek words, of course. They were starting to get too difficult for her to sound out.

"Of course." The woman said, and she walked off into the maze again. Annabeth stood for a moment, staring off into space, a little lost now that she had nothing to do but to look at the books in her arms. She looked around, and saw a table with a stool she could sit on and put the books on.

She walked over and placed them on top of the table, and pulled the stool out. She sat down.

 _Legacies,_ the worn title read. She ran her fingers over the cover; it was old. She could feel the cracks in the leather. When she opened the book, the spine cracked loudly and she sneezed into her elbow from the dust. It mustn't be opened very often either, for that matter.

She turned her eyes back on the script. It was beautiful, the words connecting together with little curls. The paper bent where the scribe wrote the letters—and she began to read.

For the first time in her life, Annabeth had found something she truly  _enjoyed._ There was something in the way she connected the ending of a verb to a subject that made her feel like she was truly in her own skin. It was enrapturing, the feeling—as though she had just found something that she had lost for years, and she felt like she could live doing just that and nothing else for years and years and years, without ever stopping. She could read for years on end, and never get tired from it, because she was always  _learning._

Another thing she knew was that she loved learning. It was part of her just like the blood that ran through her veins and her feet carried her to places she wanted—or had—to go. When she was younger, she didn't really know much about learning other than she wanted to, but never could outside of the little things she picked up from Luke and Nico and Thalia when they moaned about having to do something or not being able to understand it. It was an unattainable dream, a desire she would never receive because of her gender. Now though, she could learn. It was all because she had married Percy, the Heir Apparent of Rome, and he had granted her greatest desire.

And she had been terrified at the thought of marrying a stranger a full cycle before. It was funny how fate worked out. Maybe from now on, she should just accept that what was going to happen, was going to happen, and to not worry about it. She was going to die eventually anyway, and she might as well live life fearlessly…

_The lineage of the first Roman King: Romulus…_

She wondered how often she smiled now. Certainly more than she had back in Athens, despite the fact that Luke was an idiot, Thalia was confusing, Piper kept teasing her and Nico… well, she didn't know what to think about him anymore. He was her closest confident once, but now there was this huge gap between them she couldn't seem to close. And that made her sad.

But… maybe people were just going to be people. Maybe she should stop clinging to him, trying to make things go back to how they were when he clearly didn't want them to. Well, they weren't going to anyway. She was Heir Apparent now, and he was her bodyguard. They weren't children who could run around and scream insults at each, or play and sleep overnight in each other's rooms.

Maybe she should just… stop. Maybe she should stop trying so hard.

That made her head spin. She didn't want to give up on him; she had known him since they were small children and to just… give up like that. It felt like a disgrace, and it made her toes curl just thinking about it.

_The seventh generation…_

She flipped the page. Perhaps she wasn't trying hard enough. Everything had blurred together in the last few seasons, and maybe she just needed to spend more time with her friends. It was difficult talking to them—she hadn't talked to Luke in over a fortnight, Thalia seemed preoccupied every time she talked to her, and Piper was the only one she could talk to on a regular basis, but even she seemed to be growing more distant.

She had been prepared to take on the responsibility of being Heir Apparent, but she hadn't expected it to be so… hard. And she really wanted to learn how to read and how to write and how to defend herself on top of that. Plus, there was Percy.

_And to think, when he's Caesar I'll have to run the castle…_

A shudder rippled through her at the thought. If only Percy's mother was still alive… then she would be able to learn how to manage it. Actually, she didn't know who did that now…

_OCTAVIUS_

She blinked at the name, written in fresh ink, that jumped out under the ninth generation selection. She reread it just to make sure. She flipped the page, but it was blank there—she was at the end of the book. Right underneath his name was  _Children: Perseus, unnamed stillborn daughter_

She rubbed her eyes again, just to make sure her head and eyes were working properly. Nothing changed. For a moment she didn't understand. That line went back to Romulus, the king out of legend… which meant that Percy was related to Romulus.

And he had a stillborn sister too… it was kind of sad that the girl never had a chance to grow up. But it happened so often anyway that the only reason why it made her feel a bit of a twinge in her chest was because she was  _Percy's_ stillborn sister. The girl probably would have been beautiful and kind, though not as infuriating as Percy was.

Maybe that was why Octavius was who he was… though it didn't make any sense to her why he would be so harsh toward Percy. His only son; only  _child._ Surely, he would've done everything he possibly could to make sure Percy was loved?

But… Romans  _were_ more disciplined than Greeks. Maybe he wasn't harsh toward Percy; maybe he was just strict, but it looked harsh to her because was a Greek, and there was no changing that.

She closed that book and pulled out the books based on monsters. There were no titles on the covers, so she opened it. The book didn't make any sounds, so she guessed that it wasn't as old as the other book—which  _had_ to be Ancient.

_Medusa: Woman cursed by Athena…_

_Keto: Greater sea serpent. Weapon the titans used to declare war._

She yawned as she flipped through the pages, scanning the names of the monsters and their descriptions. When the woman came back, she found that her neck was stiff and the sun had already begun it's journey toward the west.

"Thank you." She repeated. The woman smiled a little.

"If you need more, tell me and I will get them."

"I'll definitely ask you if I need more."

After she left, Annabeth directed her attention back to the books and opened the one on the gods. She recognized the names of a few daimons inside of it too. This book must record both. That was nice.

_Soteria: safety…_

_Nike: victory_

_Nememisis: indignitation_

_Athena: goddess of war and wisdom…_

She flipped through more pages. There were so many different names that it was difficult to not skim over them. It was amazing just how many gods there were out there. She didn't know even half of them, and what they represented.

_Eris: discord_

…Probably never would be able to memorize all of them either. That made her mad—she wanted to know  _everything_ about this world, so to not be able to memorize all these names… well, she felt a little like a failure.

_Ioke: onslaught_

Besides, why would someone memorize all of these personifications in the first place?

_Alce: battle-strength_

_Aletheia: truth_

She flipped the page again, and then… there, in bold script, the words  **THE PROTOGENOI** were written. For a moment, she didn't understand what they meant. The protogenoi? She had never heard of them before. And then she looked further down, and written there was a short paragraph:

_The Protogenoi—or the primeval gods—were first twelve gods and goddesses who ruled this world, before Terra overpowered them with the assistance of her husband, Caelum. However, they have all faded into the abyss of Tartarus when Terra's kin slew them. Many believe the Protogenoi are legends meant to scare children into obedience._

_Anace: necessity_

_Anace (or Anake) is the goddess of inevitability, compulsion, and necessity… emerged self-formed… driving force with her husband (Chronos) of the unending cycle of time…_

_Amor: procreation_

_…The driving force behind of life…_

_Nox: night_

_Nox (or Nyx) is the goddess of night… a dark veil of mist drawn forth from the underworld which blots out the light of Aether…_

_Erebus: darkness_

_The protogenos of darkness… consort of Nyx… his dark mists enveloped the edges of the world, and fills the deep hallows of the earth…_

There were eight more listed—Aether, Chronos, Hemera, Oceanus, Mons, Pontus, Tethys and Thalassa—but she couldn't read most of the words used to describe them. All those names… she knew she had heard them from somewhere. But where?

"Madam?" The woman said, tapping her on her shoulder and Annabeth jumped. "You should leave now. The sun is going down and the streets are dangerous after nightfall."

She glanced out and noticed that the woman was right—she must have been here all day long. That was surprising. She must have lost track of the time…

"All right," she said and closed the book. There was no need to draw attention to herself if she could avoid it. She smiled. "Thank you."

* * *

Annabeth was running through golden floors and blue walls. She skidded around a corner of the wall for the fifth time since the monster began chasing her, stumbling over a tree root. Everything blurred and spun, before realigning in some foreign place.

But she didn't bat an eye. This kept happening.

For some reason, she didn't seem to grow tired —or out of breath either— even though she had been running for  _such_  a long time. Far longer than she ever had before, that was for sure. She couldn't stop though—she was being chased by a monster that she could not see, or hear, but she just  _knew_ it was there, lurking in the shadows.

And then she heard a woman murmuring, "Caesar, Caesar…" and then the land blurred together and spun. She yelled, her heart in her throat she fell out of the sky, onto the ground. Her head hit something, and all the breath left her lungs for a moment as her eyes watered. But then, it just… was gone. Like that.

She grimaced.

"What?" A male voice said tiredly. Annabeth opened her eyes.

She was in the throne room. That was the only thing that registered in her head. She was in the circulatory throne room in the palace. A black haired woman sat on the on the throne like she ruled the world, her chin propped up on her fist and her right leg crossed over her left. She wore a plunging black toga that went so low that Annabeth could see the round curve of the top of her breasts…

Her ears suddenly felt hot and she looked away quickly. It wasn't that she wasn't used to seeing those parts, but that was usually only in  _sculptures._ Besides, this woman wore black. Or was that a dark purple color?

"Come here, Octavius."

She swerved around in a half circle, and there stood Octavius. His dark eyes glinted in the dark as he swaggered over to the woman. Annabeth didn't understand. Why was the woman in his throne, and why wasn't he calling for the guards to arrest her?

 _Wait, is that a toga?_ She stared at the woman's linens again, for an entirely different reason this time. That… was a toga. But that meant this woman was a prostitute— but that couldn't be right because she looked too healthy to be a prostitute.

Then again, it wasn't like  _she_ would know anything about prostitution. She had been a  _princess._

"Closer." Was the woman  _purring?_ And why was Octavius not screaming at her? She peaked at Octavius, expecting to see some form of fury in his eyes but… there was something soft in his expression.

_WHAT IN TARTARUS?!_

She wanted to slink away and erase this image from her head. With bleach. But for some reason, she  _couldn't move her legs…_ and she was far too fascinated with watching these two people and their interactions with each other. She was curious to how the woman seemed to have the king hooked around her small finger, and why Octavius was allowing it. Octavius bumped into the throne, and he stopped there.

"Darling, remember when I asked you if you would trust me for  _anything?_ "

"Of course."

Annabeth gagged as a thought as to where this conversation was heading toward.  _Ewwwww. I want to leave this place! Why can't I leave? I don't need to listen to love confessions and Octavius being mushy-gushy with his… mistress?_

"I…" she seemed to hesitate. Annabeth leaned forward, suddenly interested in the conversation again. Was she going to tell Octavius she was pregnant with his illitimate heir? Would he abandon her and the child, or would he marry her? What about Percy? Maybe she was going to ask Octavius to propose to her after courting in secret for ten years? Or—or—

"What is it?"

"Do you remember what I said, about Rome being a blood seal?"

She felt vaguely disappointed for some reason. There was going to be no screaming, or crying? There was no secret child or wedding proposals? But then something clicked in her head—blood seals. There had been a copy of her talking about blood seals, and she had been planning to research blood seals at the library before she got to distraction by reading about the gods. Which meant that this woman had to be connected to the people who had copied her appearance… and that meant that she had to know  _something_ about the blood seals.

"I remember. I also remember not approving."

"Octavius, Perseus won't be harmed—I swear on my name."

"What about Roma? The populus? I love you, but there are lines I have to draw, and my kingdom is one of them."

She sighed. Annabeth wondered if her stomach was turning because of that meat she ate earlier that smelled funny, or because the idea of Octavius loving someone literally made her sick. And this was the man who whipped his son because he didn't agree with his father's principles?

The woman reached up, her pale hand wrapping around his neck and—

Annabeth's eyes widened and she felt dizzy as she watched as Octavius and the mystery woman kiss with a ferocity that she had never witnessed before. It looked like they were  _eating_ each other with the way their mouths were moving, and the way he was climbing over her and the grunts and groans— and then the next thing was her toga coming off.

_Oh no. No. No no no no no. I do not need to be scarred for life—ugh. Ewww! What in Hades' loin cloths? Why can't I move?_

The scene spun away again, and she felt so relieved that her knees buckled under her weight. She might have passed out if she hadn't been dumped into a sunlit meadow—or, she may have vomited up her dinner.

 _What's going on?_ She wondered, rubbing her forehead when a small ache started to form there. Why had she talked about blood seals? What  _was_ a blood seal? And weren't Caesars supposed to  _not_ fall prey to lust? Weren't Caesars  _not_ supposed to scar their daughter-in-laws for life with their… nightly activities?

"Hello."

Annabeth spun around in a circle. A girl with red hair— _like fire,_ a voice whispered in the back of her head—stood in front of her. She stood tall, her green eyes sparkling like she was thinking of several ways to steal your money pouch. Her skin was so pale that the spots on her face looked black against her skin. Her toga was white and long and loose, blowing in the wind with her hair.

"Salve?"

The girl smiled. "It's nice to finally meet you, Annabeth."

_How does she know my..._

"My name is Rachel."

Annabeth frowned. She heard that name from somewhere, but she wasn't sure where it was exactly… someone mentioned it to her once, in the context of death…

_Her name was Rachel._

"Oh." She said blankly. Percy had mentioned a Rachel to her, once, shortly after they had gotten married. During the Gladiators, actually… that meant that if she was talking to a dead person in a pretty meadow, then she… "I must be dead."

Rachel shook her head and laughed. "No. Not yet. You're just dreaming."

"I must be insane then."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "I can see why he likes you. You both have the same sense of humor."

 _Percy and humor?_ She wondered, trying to picture Percy telling a joke. All she could see was a big black mass of emptiness. And then she suddenly felt a little uncomfortable as she realized that she was basically talking to Percy's dead ex-fiancé who he probably still loved. A lot. His first choice.  _His choice._

Rachel must have been reading her mind somehow, because her face sobered and she commanded, "Walk with me."

So, she turned in perfect sync with Rachel and widened her stride so that she could catch up with the gir—woman? Technically, she wasn't a girl herself even though she thought of herself as such, and Rachel  _had_ to be older than she was. She wiped her sweaty hands on her toga.

"You know, when we were little, Percy, Reyna and I used to play in a meadow like this. Occasionally, we brought Jason along when we grew older to have picnics."

Annabeth smiled at the thought. Three children wrestling each other, all three of them nobility, and the two girls standing their ground against Percy. It was rather sweet, the image.

"I'm glad he's found someone else." She blinked and looked at Rachel, who only smiled at her. She almost looked innocent, with those wide eyes, but there was something devious in her eyes that made her on guard mentally. "After all, he can't be the only one not paired off with someone." She bumped her shoulder against Annabeth's, making her freeze at the sudden contact. But she relaxed quickly, when she realized that Rachel seemed a lot more relaxed than most Romans. She seemed more  _Greek_ to her than Roman.

"You're a lot nicer than I thought you would be."

"What? Did the others make me out into some sort of demon?" Rachel laughed at her own joke. Annabeth shook her head.

"No. They don't talk about you much, really. Actually, Percy only told me about you once."

Rachel frowned. "That kelp head."  _Kelp head? Why does she call him kelp head? Isn't kelp some plant that grows underwater?_ "He's not still blaming himself, is he?"

She frowned too, thinking over her question and her interactions with Percy. There were times when he seemed to personally enjoy being sarcastic and rude (usually when she was training), and then there were times when he was serious (usually when he was doing Heir Apparent stuff). She couldn't remember any times when he seemed like he was blaming himself for something, or bitter over something for that matter.

"Well, I don't think…" And then she paused. Actually, there had been  _one_ time, when they had been talking about soulmates. It had seemed to insignificant to her though, that she had almost forgotten about their conversation, but now… maybe… "Well, maybe. I'm not sure."

Rachel sighed. "You can never be sure with him. He changes like the ocean."

There was silence for a while. It wasn't comfortable, the silence, but it wasn't exactly uncomfortable enough to make her want to twitch and itch to draw her saber to stab thin air just to see if she could break it. So, she just waited it out, hoping that Rachel would speak up because she didn't know how to.

Rachel didn't speak up.

And then she thought of the blood seals, and she wondered… "Rachel? Can I ask you a question?"

Rachel smiled at her. "You already did." She glared at her, and she giggled. "Ask away."

"Do you know anything of blood seals?"

Rachel's smile slipped and her hand fell to her abdomen. She stared at it for a moment—why there? Had she been pregnant? …But the only way to get pregnant was to… actually, it shouldn't surprise her. So why did she feel a little envious?  _Besides,_ you  _didn't want to move on to the physical stage of your relationship, and he's only honoring your request._  "I was murdered for my knowledge of blood seals."

Annabeth froze, instantly feeling guilty for her assumptions.

"I can't tell you much, because that will endanger you and… I can't do that to Percy again. But I can say this: blood seals are the work of the Primeval Gods. Do  _not_ get tangled up, do  _not_ research into them, and… be careful in Roma. Neither of you know just how truly dangerous it is."

Annabeth's head spun with all this new information. Rachel knew something about the blood seals, she knew something about Roma, but she wasn't telling her for her  _safety?_  She knew she should appreciate it, but she honestly was just fed up with everyone treating her as some fragile child who wouldn't be able to handle anything that might be remotely scary. Besides, there was no way she would be able to let it rest, now that Rachel had said that much.

"Tell me," she pleaded, taking Rachel's hands. "Please, tell me everything you know."

Rachel looked away and shut her eyes. "I can't, Annabeth. I'm sorry, but I can't."

She knew it was irrational, but she grew angry anyway. She could see that Rachel wasn't going to be swayed (and she had a feeling that even if she tried, Rachel was more stubborn than she was), but that still didn't make her happy. She pulled her hands away. She was about to say something that probably would have made Percy look at her twice, when—

The scene blurred and faded, and then appeared again. Rachel looked frightened. "I said too much!"

"What?" She half asked, half snarled. "You told me nothing!"

Rachel met her eyes, and Annabeth couldn't move again under the intensity of that stare. It was so… so… full of something inside of it, that it made her feel like Rachel could see right through her, just like Reyna seemed to. "I mean it," she said. "Some truths are better to be left buried. Ignorance is sometimes better, especially in this case."

The stare lost its affect on her. She wanted to scream and rave that she had been ignorant for seventeen years of her life—seventeen years that she could never regain—and that she would  _never_ allow herself to be ignorant again. But the scene tilted and swirled again, and she was falling backward so fast that it felt like that time Nico had kidnapped her by shadow traveling—

And then she was staring at the darkened ceiling of their room. Her breath seemed unnaturally loud in the still silence of the chambers, where she couldn't hear Percy's soft breathing in her ear. It had once drove her mad, his weird cuddling habit, but she feeling his warm body against hers now. She looked at his side of the bed, even though she knew it would be as empty as it had been the last four sunrises, and it was.

A suffocating wave of loneliness washed over her then, surprising her with its intensity, and she rolled over onto her right side so that she could see the stars. Tears burned in her eyes, but she stubbornly fought them back because she  _would not_ cry over that idiot.

But… she couldn't deny it. She missed him. She missed him a lot more than she thought she would, especially after that strange dream—it  _had_ to have been a dream, even though she had no idea how her mind could come up with something so screwed up—and after her readings with the Protogenoi. She wanted to tell him about what she had figured out, about how scared she was beginning to feel. She wanted him to hug her (had they ever hugged before, really?) and she wanted to kiss him again, and again, and again. She knew he would be back soon, but still… She knew she would feel so much better once he got back to Roma again.

As she stared at the night sky, with all of these things on her heart, she wondered if he was looking at the stars right now too.

 


	30. Capvt XXX: Stronger than Hope

**A Crown of Golden Leaves**  
by xXTheDragonRiderXx  
September 2015

* * *

"Who is stronger than hope?  _Death._ " -Ted Hughes

Capvt XXX: Stronger than Hope 

* * *

**ANNABETH**  improvised to avoid the sword by doing a single-handed cartwheel then she sprung back onto the feet. The sword followed her and she sidestepped it then parried it with her saber. Her heart raced but her head felt clear as she stared at the face of her blank eyed opponent: Dummy CXXVIII.

Dummy CXXVIII's head slowly rolled off its shoulders and fell onto the ground. Annabeth wanted to groan. She didn't  _mean_ to decapitate it, she only wanted to stab it in the heart. She must have gotten carried away again.

The sound of flesh slowly smacking against flesh suddenly broke the stillness of the early morning and she whirled on the ball of her foot, bringing her sword back into a defensive position. The mist on the grass was undisturbed and the red and brown leaves that had fallen off some of the trees remained undisturbed.

 _Huh_. She couldn't be going paranoid... but then again, maybe she was just imagining something again. It was better to be safe than sorry though, so she stayed on high alert.

"Heir Apparent Annabeth!" Someone called, and a young boy wheeled into the arena. Annabeth didn't take her eyes off him. How did he know where she was so early in the morning? It wasn't exactly common knowledge that she trained in the predawn hours. "Urgent news from Tarentum has arrived. Octavius Caesar has requested your presence."

She glanced up at the sky. The sun had risen above the tree line, which was odd. By now the imperial guard would have arrived and started their own training.

"I'll be there within a bell ring," she replied, sheathing her sword. There was no way she was going to go to the throne room without changing out of this armor.

"I shall tell him."

She smiled at him, and he smiled back a little hesitantly. "Thank you."

* * *

After she changed and Piper braided her hair, she walked through the corridor toward the throne room. Servants either bowed their heads or curtsied as she passed, and she inclined her head back at them. She always had liked the servants over the ladies of court, simply because they didn't gossip as much and were polite to her. Granted, that was probably more out of fear than anything else; although her best friends were technically considered "beneath" her station.

If only she could figure out how to solve Nico's problem...

She reached the archway that opened into the throne room, and she stepped inside without pausing. This was where she belonged; she was a leader. Inclining her head, she curtsied, hiding the way her heart was racing.

"Caesar."

"Rise."

She lifted her head, quickly surveying the area. Reyna stood on the Caesar's left side, and Luke was by the door. That was odd. Normally it was just Reyna—he rarely called on Luke too, if ever.

"Come out."

The shadows rolled back and Nico stepped out of them, his black eyes meeting hers briefly before flicking back to the Caesar's. She didn't have time to get frustrated over the fact that he was  _still_ shunning her before Octavius was speaking again.

"A messenger arrived little over two bell rings ago, and I found it prudent to gather you together to listen."  _Odd, we just got a message from Jason._

A small man appeared from a side and walked in front of Octavius' throne, his dark eyes bouncing around as he bowed so low that his forehead touched the floor. She tried not to fidget or show her distaste.

"My lord," he said reverently. "It is my most humble pleasure to be of service to one so mighty."

A toady. Definitely didn't like him then. The fingers that were resting on Nico's sword twitched, as though he were restraining himself from speaking. It wouldn't surprise her—he never had been one for pomp and circumstance. Especially when they were blandish.

"Go on."

The man gulped.

"I bring news of the happenings of Tarentum, my good liege."

"Yes." From his tone, Annabeth knew he was growing impatient. Reyna coughed into her elbow.

"A-and these happenings may not be good, my liege."

Octavius leaned forward, his eyes almost inhumanly black as he stared at the man, and Annabeth almost felt sorry for him. Almost being the keyword. She didn't like where the direction this conversation was going, and apparently Nico sensed that because he turned around and brushed against her shoulder. She could hear him warning her to  _keep your temper_ as he always used to do whenever she was summoned by her father.

"What do you mean by that?" Octavius' tone was soft, but an almost  _slippery_ quality made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

"W-well, y-you see, there w-was a catastrophe that n-nearly decimated the entire village."

Nico tensed next to her, but she didn't understand the meaning of the sentence. She couldn't remember what decimated meant, even though she  _knew_ she heard the word from somewhere. Decimate... Reduce? No, that couldn't be right. She knew it had something with taxes and possibly ten men...

"What type of catastrophe, peasant?"

The man was shaking so bad she thought he might be sick, but then he spoke up. "T-they s-sa-say there was a g-great wave, my l-liege. E-even taller than t-the t-tor-torrents of th-the castle. I-it came out of n-nowhere a-and m-many weren't able to g-get to high ground quick enough."

 _No,_ she thought. Something like that was impossible. It just couldn't be possible... and what about Percy? Maybe he had known something like this was going to happen, so he stayed behind to warn them. And what in Tartarus did decimate mean anyway?

"My son?" Octavius' voice was cold. "What of my son?"

"W-we were u-unable t-to f-find him i-in the wr-wreck-wreckage, m-my l-lord. W-we b-be-believe he is d-d-de-dea-dead."

_Dead._

_Decimate means to destroy._

Roaring in her eyes. He couldn't be dead. It wasn't possible. This man had to be lying. Percy couldn't be dead, because she  _would know_ and how could he be dead just like that? He was so strong... he could laugh in the face of the Grim Reaper and get away from him. There was no way he was dead.

This man. Was. Lying.

She wasn't even aware she was walking until she was practically standing on top of the man.

"Don't lie," she said quietly. The man raised his head, his terrified eyes meeting hers. She idly noted that they were a dull green color. Very different from Percy's brilliance.

"M-my l-lady, I-I-I w-wish I w-were."

She stared at the man, wondering how he could continue to lie so blatantly in her face. Something in the back of her mind lurked, a suspicion, a  _what if he really is telling the truth?_ But that couldn't be, because then that would mean Percy was dead, and that was inconceivable.

"No, you have to be lying. He can't be dead... he  _can't_ be."

She sensed someone moving, Nico probably, but she didn't care. The man shook his head, and the edge of her vision blurred and tilted. The world was tilting on its axis, doing an 180˚ on her. It was upside down and everything was swaying and blurring. She slid down to the cold, hard floor, as though her legs had just given out on her. This couldn't be happening. Percy was invincible, he couldn't just  _die._ The world had to be lying to her. There was no way this was possible.

And then she realized, this man had managed to get out of the town.

"What about you?" She whispered. "You managed to survive. Why not him?"

"I-I'm from the n-next town over."

She saw red. Her heart stopped. If he was from the next town over, then... but no, Percy had to be alive. Wouldn't she feel it somehow? She knew she would, wouldn't she?

"No... you're lying. You have to be  _lying._ " She repeated. She clenched her fists. "He can't be dead... he's—" she broke herself off, unable to describe him. Her vision blurred. She lurched forward, as though she were drunk. She didn't think; didn't feel.

"How can he be  _dead_ when—why is he dead when this country needs him?!" She was shouting now. Her heart felt like it was being stabbed over and over again. "We just got a letter! He can't be gone!"

A hand on her bicep, restraining her. Pulling her back, away from the man. It was Nico, she was sure of it. He was saying something, while that man just stood there like the spineless coward he was. How  _dare_ he say Percy was dead? Percy couldn't  _die._

"Let go of me. Nico, let go!"

She was pulled out of the throne rook and into an antechamber. Hands on her shoulders, guiding her—or forcing her—down on a place to sit. She wanted to go back and rip that man's limbs off, one by one, starting with his legs so that he would never be able to walk anywhere to tell such wretched lies. She wanted to cut his tongue out with her saber—or a knife—so that he could never tell such lies ever again. She wanted to stab his eyes out so that he wouldn't be able to look at the things he held precious to him ever again.

"Annabeth," it was Nico's voice. Infuriatingly calm as always. "You need to—"

"Shut up," she hissed. "Do not tell me to calm myself. That— that spineless  _liar_ told me the man that I love is  _dead_ and—and—"

"No, he implied that Percy is  _presumed_ dead." She wanted to strangle him. How was his tone so calm when— wait,  _presumed?_ "Didn't you hear him say that a great wave came— and  _no body was found?"_

"But why would he say he's dead unless they thought he was?" Her voice was impossibly small as she stared at him, hoping against hope itself that he would be able to explain... hoping that he would be able to right the world again. He grimaced.

"He said they believe he is—"

"Then he must be dead..."

Nico shook his head and let out a noise that was somewhere between a growl and a groan. His fingers dug into her arms so much that it was almost painful as he gently shook her. She tried to push him away —the shaking made her dizzy— but he clung on stubbornly.

"They. Found. No. Body. And until they find his body, then I won't believe it. And neither should you."

"B-but it could have been washed out to sea or something like that."

He swore under his breath. "You're supposed to be the optimistic one between the two of us. Fine then, until I see proof with my  _very own eyes_ that Percy is dead, then I won't believe it. He has an affinity for water."

She blinked, and her mind pulled her back to that day where he siphoned water off her clothes. She almost forgot about it. Which was ridiculous now that she thought about it—what normal person can do that?

 _Normal?_ a part of her scoffed.  _What is normal? You're certainly not normal, and neither is he._

He let go of her arms, and she brought her hands to her lap. Something shimmered on the back of her palm, and when she lifted it up, she was surprised to find that it was wet.  _Tears_? She was crying?

Suddenly, his arms were around her shoulders, and her throat tightened. Why was he hugging her? He  _never_ hugged her...

"Sorry," she mumbled, touching his shoulder.

"No, don't be sorry. I'm the one who's sorry. I've been a jackass, absorbed in myself and unable to see what was happening around me."

She blinked, trying to clear her blurry vision. Somehow, she got the feeling he was trying to tell her he had forgiven her. So she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his shoulder.

Eventually, more arms wrapped around her, and she knew that they belonged to Reyna and Luke. For the first time in a while, she felt safe. Incomplete and hurting and maybe not entirely sane, but completely, utterly safe.

* * *

Annabeth didn't want to get out of bed. At all. In fact, she would rather just wallow under the covers and pretend that the light from the sun was not shining through the drapes, illuminating the room in a cheerful glow. Better yet, she would rather go back six or seven moons and not meet Percy. Her chest ached so bad now-it fellow so hollow, which was ridiculous because she  _knew_ he wasn't dead.

Or was he dead? Maybe she was just in denial... It wouldn't be the first time.

The door opened again, and she was prepared to glare at Piper, who had been unnecessarily harsh with her the last few days-but it was only Grover. She watched him for a while, pretending she was still asleep. Out of Percy's cohort of friends, Grover was the one she knew the least about, and she didn't see him very often-it was usually Piper who came in.

The satyr was silent as he pulled the pile of logs behind him, walking toward the fire. That made her frown- every time she was around him, he was always smiling or humming. Now, he just looked... lifeless. Like the happiness had been drained out of him.

She rolled over onto her side and clenched her hand to her chest. Percy had that affect on people-she realized. He somehow wormed his way into somebody's heart with that smile and those eyes, and before you knew it, he was someone you would die to protect.  _Die for and kill for_ , in her case. But now, he was just... gone.

It was almost funny, the irony. A part of her thought he was invincible, even though she knew that was impossible unless he bathed in the Styx-which someone couldn't do unless they had been to the Underworld, and she could say without doubt he never had been to the Underworld. Well, until now that was.

Maybe she just never thought he would be the first to go. There was some type of energy around him, like nothing could pull him down. Besides, she was a Champion of Olympus. She was only living on borrowed time at this point- until it was her time to do her duty to the Olympians. No matter how grudgingly.

 _To Tartarus with them,_ she grumbled in her mind. She just wanted to be left alone. She could handle being Heir Apparent... if only for him.

_Gods. I'm the only Heir to Rome now. What does that mean? Why did Octavius send him out in the first place? Why not an infantry soldier or Jason or Reyna... aren't kings supposed to be protected and not sent out to war?_

But she knew Percy wouldn't accept that though- just being a passive Heir Apparent, content with reading papers all day long and letting the soldiers get their hands dirty in his stead. For all his faults, she knew he loved Rome. His country. She knew he lived and breathed for it, and that he would die for it if the situation called for it. And the people  _adored_ him. From what little interaction she had with the population outside of the palace, she could see with her very own eyes that they adored him.

 _A king worth dying for,_ she thought. Viciously, she scrubbed at her eyes when they began to burn again-for what felt like the hundredth time in that morning. Afternoon. It didn't matter anymore-time didn't matter. It was just a way to know what the year was-and even then, most didn't pay attention to the year, let alone date. Just harvest time and the passage of the seasons.

She curled in on herself, wishing she were a physician so she could stitch this gaping... emptiness in her chest back together again. A part of her felt angry, though she wasn't she what at, or who at. Maybe the gods, or the world, or Octavius, or even Percy himself.

"Annabeth?"

She didn't want to talk, so she considered closing her eyes and pretending that she was asleep, but she felt like Reyna would know somehow. There was just something about that woman that made her respect and fear her at the same time-maybe that was why she was the only female praetor she ever heard of when most Romans thought girls were weaker than men. It was the same back in Greece; women could not be in a position of leadership. Humans were little better than Barbarians sometimes, especially in Sparta.

So she sighed and rolled over. Reyna's stare was penetrating as always-like she could read her intentions and thoughts-but the edge was missing. That may have been because her eyes were rimmed red and puffy.

_Oh._

Immediately, she felt sick-sicker than she had ever felt in her life. How selfish could she get? There were other people who cared for Percy; people who had known him much longer than she had. She reminded he told her once that he had known Reyna for as long as he could remember.

"Hi." She mumbled. Reyna didn't smile.

"Can I sit with you?" she asked. Annabeth nodded, even though she really didn't want Reyna to sit with her-she'd much rather wallow under the covers. But she kicked the sheets off the bed. Reyna sat on the edge, leaning against the wall, so Annabeth decided that she wouldn't move and pulled her legs up to her chest.

They were silent for a while-she wasn't thinking about anything really. It was just a buzzing sound in her head, as words and phrases leapt into the front of her mind, but just as quickly they slipped away.

"He was like a brother to me, you know?" Reyna eventually interrupted. She hadn't known for sure, but she had thought they were close from their joking. Quite frankly, she was terrified of Reyna and wouldn't have even tried to make a joke about her even if her life depended on it. She nodded anyway. "The idiot always ran into things without thinking it through when we were younger. Then Rachel died and he just... changed, I guess. Became fixated on Roma to the point it was borderline obsession. That's why he agreed to marry you, Annabeth. He hadn't wanted to at first-actually, he was incensed at the very idea. But then the Senate brought in the welfare of Roma, and he caved in. I don't think you were what he was expecting." She smiled a little then. "That night we met, when you were chased by Cyclops? Do you remember that?"

"Of course," she murmured. How could she forget? That had been the first time she had met him- she hadn't even realized who he was, and he still saved her life. Now that she thought about it, he could have easily been anyone else-a guard, a peasant. He could have been in Jason's place, and Jason could have been the Heir Apparent instead. It would have been different-how she felt about him. Or maybe not. She wasn't sure.

"I remember how he looked the rest of the way back. Thoughtful. A little hopeful. You have no idea how relieved I felt when I saw that-saw that hope inside of his eyes, burning like fire. It had been so long since I saw him truly  _alive,_ and happy. I don't think he ever stopped loving Rachel, but he tucked it away. Or maybe he just had more love to give. I think love's kind of like that-it never runs out. It just grows, and grows, and grows.

"And Jason... gods. When we were young-back when I first met him-I thought he was a pig and shouldn't be near Percy, the future ruler of Rome. He still can be a pig at times, but there is...  _was_ no one I trusted with Percy's life more than him. He'd die for Percy-he was his king already, in his mind. He never had any true allegiance to Octavius, but to Percy... well, me too, I guess. But I was always different. If Percy was my brother, then Jason would have been even closer than a brother or a lover. Saving each other's lives day in and day out kind of did that to you."

Annabeth could see it in her head now. Four children-one with red hair, one with blond hair, one with black hair, and the last with long, brown hair. First the brown haired one, and the black haired one, playing together in the fields, and then... well, who joined them first?

"Can you tell me about Rachel? I never really asked Percy because... I don't know, really. It never really came up, I guess. I think I always felt a little jealous too, subconsciously."

Reyna had a thoughtful expression on her face, but she didn't respond immediately. So, Annabeth pulled a blanket up from the base of the bed and threw it over their legs, even though the temperature was warm and comfortable. She wanted it anyway, and she figured Reyna would too. Reyna stretched her legs, and Annabeth felt a moment of déjà-vu. She used to be able to convince Piper and Thalia to just pretend they were all at the same class level when they were younger, and they would stay up until the sun had set and it was long dark, giggling and talking about their futures and which guard was the cutest throughout the night while the fire burned.

It felt different though. Maybe because they never were at the same class level, but she and Reyna  _were._ Or at least, they were close and it wouldn't be seen as scandalous if someone caught them talking and being friendly with each other.

That was nice.

Eventually, Reyna spoke. Her words were like poetry, slipping off her tongue like water off leaves. Her voice rose and fell in all the right places, as though her story had been rehearsed even though Annabeth knew it wasn't. The last thing she remembered wondering was what it would be like if she retold the Iliad or Odyssey, before her voice consumed all her attention.

"Rachel was as different from you as someone could get-like the sun and moon. She swore like a sailor, she preferred to wear armor so that she could run, she laughed loudly and told rude jokes. Instead of being demure and soft spoken, she was loud and she told everyone what she thought, when she thought it-especially if it was a stupid idea. I wish you could have heard the way she railed on about the Gladiators. I somehow get the feeling you two would have gotten along.

"Despite all her faults though, she was kind. She used to walk in the streets with Percy and me, and give bread to the hungry-because she knew what it was like to feel that way. And her moral compass was probably the truest of ours, because she had not been brainwashed by the politicians around her like we had. That's how we got Jason into our group, but we'll get to that a little later.

"I suppose we met her when we were six or seven summers. It was one of those days when we were allowed outside of the palace with Percy's mater, the ladies in waiting, our nursemaid, and some of the guards. Percy and I were running through the stalls in the market, and I remember trying the food the merchants gave us-then being confused over why there were so many dirty faces in the street, with too thin hands and too thin blankets. I asked Lady Sally about that, but she said she would explain when we were older.

"Well, Percy got into a fight with a girl of all people. I remember being surprised at the fact that she could him angry enough to argue with her-because he's always been the level headed one, even when I was railing at him. To this day, I remember her yelling that he has everything he could ever want-food, shelter, the world at his fingertips-and I remember him arguing back at her, gesturing with his hands, insisting that he didn't have everything though he wasn't able to back it up. Needless to say, it was the first of many arguments.

"One of the ladies suddenly took the girl by her arm, and she cried out in surprise and tried to wrench it away. She smelled, I remember. Horribly. Though as I grew older, I would smell would smell worse. The lady had said that she was hers, and I didn't know what that meant until later.

"The next time we met her, she was in a pretty dress and she looked healthier. Her skin no longer clung to her bones, and it was as pale as ivory. But her hair... I remember being envious of her hair. I'd always wanted red hair like hers. Though that feeling disappeared when Percy said something, and that sparked off another round of arguments between those two.

"As we grew older, we changed. Rachel's tongue became sharper but more refined, in that she could insult politicians without them realizing it. Percy started to take his studies more seriously. I became fixated on becoming praetor because I wanted to be strong-I wanted to prove to Percy that I wasn't weaker because I was a woman, though he never said that. I doubt he even thought that, since he was always somewhat terrified of me. By the time we turned eleven, I was acidic toward him... I hurt his feelings a lot, I remember. I never realized it until Rachel had had enough one day and slapped me. She told me that I was going to lose the only friend I had if I didn't see past my nose and realized how horrible I had been to him.

"The next incident was when we were twelve. That was when we met Jason, who was a year older than we were. He called himself a gutter rat. By that, he meant that he stole from people, was in with the wrong crowd... drank, smoked tobacco, chewed opium... I remember feeling sick around him. My stomach would churn whenever he gave me that serial killer smile, like he was one of those performers who were masks with those wide, toothy smiles. I knew he was bad news. Percy was all for throwing him to the dungeons to rot for life-he nearly did it two or three times too, but Rachel always talked him out of it.

"To this day, I don't understand what she saw in Jason that we couldn't. I'm glad she did though. I remember her and Percy arguing over him all the time, and I remember getting migraines over it. I felt like outside forces were tearing us apart-Jason. Percy and Rachel always argued, but this... well, it was vicious. Honor, duty, morals-what was right and wrong. They threw every hurtful thing they knew at each other, and Percy was nothing if not stubborn. That, combined with Rachel's temper, made it feel like I could chuck my knife through the air and I would be able to shatter it.

"One day, I had enough. I was sick and tired of Jason. I was sick and tired of always bickering with my oldest, and only, friends. So, I marched on down to where I knew Jason slept and kicked him in the side. He had squinted at me, even though I held a dagger at his throat. "Get your act together or stay away from my family, unless you want this to be in your back." And then I unsheathed it.

"It wasn't until a few years later I saw him again- we were fifteen, and Percy and Rachel had begun to tentatively court. I didn't recognize him. He was clean shaven. His eyes were sharp and alert, not in whatever hallucination he was viewing inside his mind. I guess he got help somehow. I remember how there was some type of charged connection between Jason and Percy, as though they were sharing a secret message... which was broken when Rachel threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Of course.

"Well, as they say. The rest is history. Eventually, Rachel and Percy got engaged... and then Rachel was murdered."

Annabeth closed her eyes. "How?" she whispered, a little scared to hear. Reyna hesitated, and then she answered,

"She was mauled. Reports say it was a monster attack, but Percy was the first to find her... after... well. When he spoke of it once, he said that her wounds looked like a jagged knife had been pulled all over her body. But he had been... gods, Annabeth. He was... I don't know how to describe it. He was inconsolable, and it was two weeks before their wedding too. I was just as bad. Jason was the one who actually kept us from doing anything stupid... well, too stupid. I remember when we drank ourselves into a stupor to forget about her one night. The next day, we vowed to never have a drop again ever in our lives... which was a bit impractical at the time, but we never have more than a glass of wine now anyway. I don't think we would have made it without Jason there to goad us."

There was a long period of silence, but it wasn't awkward so Annabeth didn't feel the urge to interrupt it. Four friends, as tightly knitted as they were... she had no idea how deep it tangled, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by how much Percy had let her in. She would probably never have what they had with any of them-or even her own friends. Their bond was stronger than hope-and the only thing stronger than hope was death. Maybe it was stronger than death too.

She brushed her hand against her cheeks and was surprised when she saw the tears on them.

"Annabeth." Reyna spoke again, and she looked at her. "He trusted you Annabeth. I would say he loved you, but I don't understand his feelings as I used to when we were children. I guess he is more complex now, and it's harder to understand him. Maybe he married you out of duty, or honor, but I think he genuinely cared for you and trusted you. He was happier too, when he was with you. Much happier than he had been in a long time."

She smiled.

"Thank you Reyna."

Reyna smiled back, and deep down inside her heart, she wondered if there was some type of fragile bond between the two of them now. Maybe not as strong or as deep as the one Jason and Percy had, but it was there, and it was true.

She hoped it was get stronger eventually. Maybe even strong enough to transcend lifetimes.

* * *

 

**Omake:**

"Let me get this straight; you want to  _bite_ me? So you can  _possess_  me? And you expect me to  _let you_ do that now that I know?"

Percy stared at the tiny... worm thing with those creepy large teeth and those really,  _really_ big eyes. He inched away from Creepy Worm.

"Do not look down on me foolish mortal! I am Envy! The greatest! The bestest! I SHALL RULE THE WORLD!"

"I can step on you and squash you."

Envy grumbled. "This is why I need to possess you. That way I can get my true, beautiful form back!"

Percy facepalmed. This was  _soooo_ not canon. Then again, he wasn't canon in the first place so it didn't really matter what was canon and what was not canon anyway.

 


	31. Capvt XXXI: To Be A King

_Yesterday's the past, tomorrow's the future, but today is a gift. That's why it's called the present." -Bil Keane_

Capvt XXXI: To Be A King

* * *

**THE** wave crashed all around him. Percy barely had time to gulp down his last breath of air when the water cascaded over his head. The pressure lifted him off the ground and then made him hammer down against it; at least, that was what it felt like.

It made his eyes burn—the salt in the tidal wave, or whatever it was. The pressure crushed his skull, making it ache like it was being squeezed thinner and thinner - like pins and needles were pricking his mind - and for a moment he was convinced that he was going to die because there was no way a normal, mortal man could survive such pressure. But he couldn't. Die, that was. Not yet. He had a country that needed him, that he would one day rule – there were things he still needed to do, things he wanted to say. He still had to atone for letting Rachel die that day, too; it should have been him, not her -  _never_ her - the shadow monster had wanted  _his_  blood, but Rachel had stopped it and she had paid the price. He hadn't been able to save her, and by the gods, he would try to make up for that even if it took him a lifetime. He wasn't ready to give up now anyway.

_You're in a giant ball of water! Get out of it!_

Oh, right. That. But he didn't know how. His lungs were beginning to ache, and it wasn't like was a son of Poseidon so that he could breathe or manipulate the water somehow. He could wait it out for gods know how long, but that was a bad idea because he could drown by the time he got out of this sphere. Besides, Jason was stuck in here with him probably so that meant he could die as well, and Percy knew he was the best swimmer between the two of them -

Wait. He  _could_  manipulate water.

Memories came to the forefront of his head, somewhat blurry around the edges and monochrome - but the voices were startling clear. The first thing was her red hair, Rachel's red hair; it stood out in stark contrast with the gray areas of the memory. She was laughing, her green eyes lit up joy, tossing her head back while Reyna grumbled and twisted her hair around. Wringing it out? He had pushed her into the lake and had placed the blame on Jason, who had shoved him toward the water with his shoulder though he had caught his balance at the last second. He had felt guilty about pushing her in when she said something about catching a cold, so he had... concentrated on the water and imagined pulling it away, out of her hair, dispersing it into the air. She had rolled her eyes and punched him in the shoulder, but had smiled too and said thanks.

So, how could he apply the same principle to this wave? It felt like the wave was now trying to tear him into two separate pieces, everything from below his torso to go up while everything above his torso wanted to go down. And his lungs were beginning to burn.

_I need air. Now._

His thoughts swirled in his head, ideas popping to the forefront of his head and then being quickly dismissed because they wouldn't work. He knew he had to move the water, but how on earth was he supposed to move such a large quantity of this  _stupid_  liquid so that he could breathe? And what about Jason? Did that mean he had to split it apart somehow? That was impossible! He couldn't-

 _Calm. Down._ That voice sounded like Reyna, actually... Bless her. She was the only one who thought logically in the insane situations they got themselves into, even inside of his own head.  _You're running out of oxygen faster by panicking and you can't waste it what you still have left. Think quicker, idiot!_

Okay. He could do that.

He could imagine pulling it apart so that the water would split into two sections and release them. One of them could have a broken bone or two, but that was better than dying.

 _Good_.

He clenched his teeth and his fingers so hard that his teeth ached and his knuckles hurt. He could do this. He would be able to control the water in his head to magically sear it apart. He sounded insane.

Insanity didn't matter though; life mattered and he would make it out of this tidal wave alive even if it was the last thing he would do.

Later, Percy wouldn't be able to describe what he did exactly. All he knew was that there was this tugging feeling in his gut, and he somehow just knew what he had to do. He had shoved his hands in front of him, imagining the water obeying his command and... the pressure moved from tearing him apart to whipping around him, moving forward swiftly. Opening his eyes, he had thrown his hands parallel to his chest in a 18o° angle- like the letter "T". The wave had abruptly parted, leaving him hanging over the treetops for a moment, staring at Jason who was floating a few feet above him, his eyes and mouth open as if he was surprised by the sudden appearance of air flooding into his lungs.

Then Percy gasped, because he could hold his breath no longer, and time had picked up again. The next thing he knew was that the ground was rushing up at an incredibly fast rate and the trees were attacking his flesh, sending flashes of pain that reminded of uneerily of when he had been flogged on Annabeth's behalf. Then his vision was darkening on the edges and blurring, and then it went black altogether when something - or someone - had yanked on his arm, dislocating it from his socket.

He heard nothing more after that.

* * *

When Percy woke up, his ear rung, there was a strange fogginess in his thoughts and Jason was staring at him, his blue eyes wide and worried. Percy smiled widely. He looked weird, like he needed a hug—but Percy didn't hug anyone except Annabeth or Reyna so he should poke him in his forehead instead.

"Percy? You alive?"

Percy giggled —though a part in the back of his cringed at the girly sound— and nodded. "'Course! Why else am I not sleepy?"

Jason stared at him for a moment, almost going cross eyed which was very funny too. Actually, everything looked funny— especially the bright purple trees. They were far too light and bright to be the royal colors on their togas.

"You're pupils are dilating. You must have a concussion."

Percy frowned at him. He didn't like the sound of that, concussions were bad— he felt fine anyway. Although he did have a headache... "Thank you, physician Jason. If I wanted a dia-dia- a test about my heeeealth I would have asked." He tried to drawl, but the effect was broken when he slurred a couple of his words, which made him erupt into a giggling mess again. Gods, he hadn't felt this happy and light in  _years._

Jason groaned. "It's going to take forever to get back to Tarentum at this rate... you're so lucky I tolerate your mad ideas, right?"

Percy beamed. "Yup!"

"Can you walk?"

He pouted a little. Of course he could walk. He wasn't a baby! So Percy stood up and tripped over his feet; he caught his balance though and walked forward toward the tree—and he hugged the bright pink trunk. Why did everything look funny anyway?

"Idiot... I hope you didn't give yourself permanent brain damage." Jason walked over to him and swung his arm across his shoulders—which was very uncomfortable, might Percy say. His body was beginning to hurt all over anyway. "How does this always happen to us?" He moaned then, shifting Percy's weight on his shoulder. Percy giggled as he tried to stagger away from his  _best friend for life!_ "Oh man, you're acting like you're sixteen and drunk again."

"I'm not sixteen," he said with a little pout. "I'm twenty—twenty—" he frowned and began to count the fingers off his right hand. "I'm twenty one hundred years old!" he crowed, very proud that he had figured it out all by himself. Jason sighed.

"I hope this is just a concussion and not something permanent. Oh, that would be awful. What would I say to your pater?"

"La la la!" Percy sang in response, "La de da de doo! I'm the biggest and the baddest and dum de doo de doo!"

"Oh, you simple headed moron who can  _control. water_ —"

"I know a song you sing in the taverns!" He interrupted quickly, because he did not want Jason to go down that path. That path made him feel uncomfortable and scared, because he knew only sons of Poseidon could control water and his pater was Octavius. Besides, he did know a song people sang in tavern houses, because he had  _snuck out_ once when he was sixteen and drunk so much liquor that his head exploded the next day. Reyna had joined him. Then again, at the time he was sad over Rachel... It taught him that he would never drink again though, because future Caesars were supposed to be dig-digni—something.

"I know you do," Jason muttered. "I taught it to you when I took you drinking all those years ago. I also remember the consequences of that song. You sang it nonstop on the way back, and Reyna was furious the next morning. That may have been because of her hang over. You're both weepy drunks."

Percy cackled loudly, and then he tripped over a rock which made Jason swear.

"I'll sing it again for you!"

"No, please don—"

"OOOOOoooH! Fifteen men on the dead man's chest—yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil had done for the rest—Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum*!"

"I hate you sometimes. I can just leave you here. I wouldn't even feel sorry about it."

Percy frowned. "But that's  _meeeeaaan_ Jasey! You can't do that."

Jason rolled his eyes. "I was addicted to Opium for gods' know how long and I still don't really care about what's nice or not. Believe me, I can leave you here, all alone, and I wouldn't even feel a twinge of guilt."

Percy poked him in the chest. "Not even that much?"

"Nope. Not even that much!" He said with a smirk. Percy sighed.

"You're a big meanie."

"You're going to be so embarrassed if you remember this later—I'll make sure to remind you if you don't." The edges of Percy's vision began to darken and he stumbled. Jason literally growled like an animal—perhaps a lion? "I swear to all of the Olympians, if you're being hard on purpose—"

"Jasey," he said soberly. "I think I'm going to go night night."

"You're going to wha—"

Percy went night night.

* * *

Why, oh why, did his head feel like he had gotten into his pater's store of alcohol and spent the night drinking it all?

Light. Why was there light? DESTROY THE LIGHT. He had to . . . kill the light . . . or something.

"Welcome to the land of the living."

He groaned. What a high-pitched voice . . . he should kill that too. Wait, no, he shouldn't. That was Jason. Thinking hurt so much . . .

"What did we do last night?" he mumbled. "My head feels like it's gonna kill me. Ow." He flopped an arm across his eyes to block out the sunlight.

"Well, you didn't drink yourself until you became a giggling loon, if that's what you mean." Jason . . . he was so cruel, talking so loudly and his voice was so high-pitched . . . kill the voice, and the light . . . "Actually, your migraine wasn't entirely your own fault. Something happened at the ocean, and then you controlled a huge wave thing. By the way, you hugged a pink tree, giggled like a school girl, and called me a meanie. I intend to take revenge too."

"Stop," Percy moaned, lifting his head up so that Jason could hear him. The minuscule movement made his head pound. "Head . . ."

"Yeah, I know. Can't do anything about it though; they don't want to risk you going into a permanent coma. You might as well go back to sleep."

"'kay."

* * *

Thankfully, the next time Percy woke, he didn't feel like he was going to throw up and his migraine had faded into a dull headache. He pushed himself up and reached out for the cup of water someone had thoughtfully placed on the end table. His hand shook, so he stretched his other hand around his chest to steady the cup as he brought it to his parched mouth.

Steadily, the events of what happened that day came back to him, and he slowly put the glass down in his lap. He didn't know what alarmed him most. The fact he reacted to the sea so badly for some reason, or that the gods were involved in this somehow, or that that woman kept calling him prince... He wasn't entirely sure she was referring to the fact he was the apparent heir of Rome.

And he was pretty sure that he had controlled that wave somehow, though everything was rather fuzzy. The door creaked loudly, and he looked up.

A girl stood by the door, maybe ten or eleven years old. Her hair was a bright red color, like the sunset, but her blue eyes were glassy and unfocused. Her hair color surprised him; the only girl he'd known who had red hair had been Rachel. Actually, if he had just seen her hair, he would have sworn he just saw Rachel's ghost.

"Are you awake?" She asked. He nodded, but then he realized that she might not be able to see him—one of his tutors had eyes like hers. He had been blind physically, but he had been one of the wisest men Percy had known. Actually, one of his favorite maxims had been, "You're more blind than I am, because you see merely with your eyes."

"Yes."

"Good." She walked into the room, trailing her fingers against the wall. She was  _blind_  then. "Your friend's been worried sick. Don't you know not to go to the Dark Area? That place is evil; you're lucky you weren't killed, and that your friend was able to carry you. Poor fellow looked half way to Hades by the time we found him though. I'm Demetria by the way. What's your name?"

She spoke quickly, without taking a breath. Her voice rose in pitch the longer she went, and it sounded like she was talking through her nose instead of with her tongue. His head throbbed.

"My friends call me Percy."

"Oh? What's your real name? I don't meet very many people so I don't get to know very many names; besides, I can't read. Well, I'm a girl. But I'm blind too."

He rubbed his forehead. "It's Perseus."

Her smile widened as she... hopped onto the edge of his bed. He pulled back quickly, so that she wouldn't sit on his legs. Jason once decided that it would be fun to convince Reyna and Rachel to dog pile on top of him, and his legs had never recovered from their combined weight.

"Like the Heir Apparent? Have you heard he got married recently? Like, no more than half a year ago! They say his wife is really pretty, but also kind of fierce."

"She is." He agreed before he really thought about it—and then he wanted to smack himself with something hard. Why did he just say that? He had a better filter on his tongue than that! It wouldn't be hard for her to connect the dots now—

Demetria leaned forward, pressing her hands against his ankle. He tried to shake her off, but she wouldn't budge.

"You know her? Do you know the Heir Apparent then? Are the stories true then, that she's a warrior princess from Greece? Does she really fight with her bare hands and teeth? Does she have oddities, like pointy ears or she writes with her left hand?"

_Oh, forget it. She'll figure it out anyway. Might as well answer her questions._

"No, she wasn't a warrior—she didn't even know how to hold a sword. She can fight with her hands and feet if she wanted. Her ears are pointy, but she doesn't write with her left hand." He considered her for a moment. Jason wouldn't be thoughtful enough to leave him a glass of water, and she may be the only person who lived here if her father was fighting in the army and her mother was gone. "Did you leave the water here?" She nodded. "Thanks! My throat had been dry."

She shrugged. "No problem. You were in a bad shape. What were you doing anyway?"

Instantly, he felt a little more guarded. Had he said too much . . . ? But no, this was only a child. "We were looking for something," he said. "I ran into something bad down there, and it . . . well, I don't know exactly what it did to me."

"Your head was so hot it felt like it was on fire, you kept vomiting all over yourself and having seizures, and apparently you had migraines. Daddy says it was a case of black magic and something else."

 _So, she doesn't live alone._ Her tone was so matter of fact that they could be discussing the weather. He cringed. He didn't like being so vulnerable, even around Reyna or Jason or Annabeth.  _Especially_ Annabeth.

"Thank you for taking care of me then. That mustn't have been pretty."

She shrugged again. "You're welcome. You talk kinda funny, you know that, right? Like you're an aristocrat or something, but at the same time, there's something else in it."

He grinned. "That's because I'm special." He replied. Her blind eyes seemed to brighten and she lifted her chin a little higher.

"Do you live in Roma?" He nodded. "Can you take me there?"

"What?" he asked. "Take you to—no," he shook his head. "You can't be more than eight or nine; there's no way I can take you back with us."

She scowled. "I'm fifteen."

"Oh. Oops." He rubbed the back of his head, remembering Annabeth's reaction when he thought she had been younger the first time they met. He had been a little bit overwhelmed at the time, he remembered . . . with the Cyclops attacking and then finding out that she was his future wife, who he was  _not_ supposed to meet until the wedding. Something with Apollo and the Sibylline prophecies; he couldn't even remember the reason anymore. "Sorry." Then he paused, "Wait, fifteen? How come you're not married yet?"

She rolled her eyes. And with that, he decided that Demetria didn't remind him of Rachel, she reminded him more of Annabeth.

"Most of the boys are too scared of me." Her voice was so casual, it was almost scary. He felt the urge to inch away from her. "Most people call me a demon. That's why we moved out into the woods— to get away from everyone. Only daddy goes into town now."

Unexpectedly, there was a pang in his chest— not exactly an ache. He hated people like that, the judgmental ones who cast things they didn't understand as abnormal or evil. "That's awful. How come?"

She bit her bottom lip, reluctance in her expression, but then she sighed. "Apparently, my eyes turn green and I sprout off a lot of nonsense. I don't remember those episodes though— I'm always somehow knocked unconscious."

 _Where have I heard about that before?_ Because he knew—he had heard something like that happening before; he knew he hadn't seen it because he was sure it wouldn't be something he could forget. Perhaps someone had talked about it or he had read about it in some book? He shook his head, he can always think of it later.

"Well, don't listen to them. Whenever something or someone is a little different from what is considered normal, man usually calls it horrible names and labels it evil. And you're obviously not evil." He wrinkled his nose. "You're too scrawny to be evil."

"Hey!" she complained, but she laughed at the same time. She stood up and took the tray with her. "I have to go tell daddy you're back in the land of the living. Your friend will be glad to know you're alive."

"How long  _was_ I out anyway?" he asked.

"Hmm, probably about three or four days."

 _"What_?!" He squeaked. Three or four days? Then they were supposed to be back four days ago!

"We decided to give you some ambrosia after the fifth day—"  _fifth day? Okay, what?_ "—figured it would be better to risk it, since you were burning up anyway. Somehow, the fever came down. Are you a demigod or something?"

"No," he said quickly, shaking his head. He would know if he was a demigod, though he might be a legacy. "Fifth day?"

She smiled. "Yeah—three or four days after your fever broke and you came to, according to Sir Jason. Before that, you'd been thrashing around with a fever for three or four days. I kind of lost count."

_We've been around Tarentum for ten days? ...Oh, no . . . Pater probably sent out patrols a week ago. I hope they didn't do too much damage to the town. That would be another thing I would have to make amends for._

_Malcolm!_

_Where was Malcolm?_  Then he remembered. Malcolm had run when that wave had arrived.  _Coward,_ he seethed. He hated cowardice almost as much as ignorance.

"I think Sir Jason sent a letter out about seven sunrises ago," she went on. "Not sure how he afforded it though. He said you were travelers from Roma."

"We are," he said. His headache was coming back.

"Well, guess I should go then." She waved her hand in his direction vaguely. "No offense, but you still look exhausted."

His head rolled back into the pillows, like her words had made his body realize that it  _was_ still exhausted. He wriggled back under the covers.

"Yeah, well . . ." Sweet oblivion consumed him, and he couldn't remember what he said after that.

* * *

The next time Percy woke, he was able to get out of bed, walk around on his own (with Jason hanging on his shoulder like a mother hen) and keep down some broth and stale bread. His stomach turned at the thought of eating anything else.

Demetria's pater, Darius, was a genuinely kind man who smiled a lot. When Percy had thanked him and offered to compensate him with money, the man had waved it off and said, "Got to be an example to the lass, don't I? I'm the only one she's around now." In fact, he almost seemed insulted.

"I figured when she mentioned the town had ostracized her. My wife was the same way when we first met—I thought she was younger than she really is."

For some reason, Darius looked at tad disappointed, but then he brightened up immediately afterward.

"Well, I'm glad your own your feet again, though you probably won't be able to get back to your city for at least another week." Percy was a little too relieved at that, the idea that he could stay for a little longer. He had no interest to go back to the ocean, but he really wanted to sock Malcolm in the jaw and he wasn't sure he would be able to handle the rough ride back to Roma. That was, if they could find their horses, which was another matter altogether. He'd hate to lose Jamie Boy; he'd had him since he was sixteen.

Later, he was walking on the edge of the forest with Jason by his side – as it should be, he was his most trusted advisor and one of his closest friends – he asked,

"Did you send my pater a message? I don't want him worrying too much since I told him we'd be back a week ago."

Jason hummed positively. "I did; told him he found some interesting things and that we would be delayed... before the tidal wave though. I figured I'd let you tell him of your bout of illness." Percy caught his eyebrows furrowing out of the corner of his eye. "You really did look bad."

He grimaced when his chest tightened and stopped walking for a moment to let the cramp dissipate. It was like the cramps he got in his toes occasionally when he stepped on them strange; hurting for a moment and tightening, and then he had to flex his foot until they left. He sighed. "I still feel awful, to be honest."

"Well, you better get more rest in that case. I wish you would take it easier though... Darius said you're pushing yourself too hard."

"Please don't give me the Mother Hen crap, Jason. I'm a grown man and a soldier. I know what I'm doing."

Jason poked him in the forehead, and then on his chest. Percy crossed his arms to appear more majestic and kingly. "You're a child in a grown man's body; and you're the future emperor, not an officer like Reyna or me."

He looked away and exhaled. "Sometimes, I think it would be easier if I was a soldier like you two. There have been times when our difference in status has strained our friendship when we were younger."

Jason didn't respond for a moment, and he began to walk again because he knew he wouldn't—they never really had an answer to it when they brought it up, so why should they now?

"Wait." He said, and Percy halted. He was sure his eyes had widened—but why would they not? He was surprised—no, he was  _shocked,_ because nobody ever told him that. He turned around and stared at Jason, but he was staring at the woods with that look in his eyes—the one he got when he was about to say something not entirely stupid. It was the same look he got when he said that one day, he would become Praetor so that he could help him change their country.

"To be a king, to have the opportunity that you have... Percy, so many people would  _kill_ just to be in your place. You have the power to change the world, which I know you will do because I can see it within you. It's not a curse; it's a blessing you should cherish and make use of.

"And we're still here now. We're still your friends—gods, you and Reyna are like family to me. I'd do anything to protect you. Maybe it was tested, and maybe the metal that links us together is tarnished, but we made it and our bond is stronger for it. We're going to stay like this forever. You, and me, and Reyna. Rachel too. She'll always be with us in our hearts and minds."

Percy wasn't quite sure about what he was supposed to say to that onslaught of words—in fact, he felt a little teary eyed—so he just walked over to him and hugged him, because that was what brothers did. Jason stiffened, before he hugged him back. They pulled away quickly though—because any longer would become  _girly._

He laughed. "Jason, you should be an orator. I'm horrible at public speaking!"

Jason smirked lazily. "You can't control perfection, Perseus. It just comes naturally."

"Stop being an arse." He bumped his shoulder against his and began to walk again. Jason followed.

"You know, there's this tavern song you sang when you were in that concussion..."

Percy felt the blood drain out of his face. "T-tavern songs?"

"Yup. You have an impressive voice."

He moaned. "After that headache, I decided I would never drink more than one glass of ale or mead."

Jason clapped him on his shoulder, and Percy grunted at the force he used. "Well, it was a learning experience at least."

"Reyna nearly killed me _._ "

"Because she had a hangover. "

"I had one too!"

"Yes, but you're not homicidal.  _She is._ "

"You know, she could hear you."

"If you tell her I said that, I'll tell the Senate you know a tavern song."

"I won't tell her if you don't tell anyone."

"Deal."

They shook hands on it.


	32. Capvt XXXII: Abhinc

 Capvt XXXII: Abhinc

_"Where there's life, there's hope." – Cicero  
_

Translation: From here on

* * *

JASON waited until his King was sleeping again—he may pretend he was well, but Jason knew better— to make his move. Darius had a frown on his face as he hooked his spare cloak over his shoulders and buckled it around his neck.

"It is not safe for you to go to Tarentum alone, Sir Jason." Darius said for the fifth time that evening. Jason struggled not to roll his eyes; he was their host and he had saved their lives, but his demeanor was almost suffocating. He was ready to leave, but his King wasn't yet: at least, not for a few more days.

It was so strange... he seemed perfectly fine, and then he would suddenly grow weak, and Jason  _knew_ his hand was hurting him though he pretended otherwise.

"Don't worry, Darius. I need to see how badly damaged the town is, and see if there's anything I can do to help. I'm not going to do anything stupid."  _Unlike his majesty._ Which was too true—Percy truly was reckless at times. He still didn't know how they survived the giant wave. Darius sighed.

"I don't understand you lads."  _Lads? I'm twenty-two summers! ...Well, somewhere around there._ "I'm not about to stop you. Just don't be a bad influence on Demetria."

Jason smiled, nodding. "Of course not. Don't worry Darius, I'll play it safe."

"You better," Darius grumbled, "I'm not going to patch you up a second time."

~...~

His steps were nearly silent as he walked through the town. His mind was blank as he took in the buildings that had once stood firmly, falling into pieces in a way that reminded him of ten years prior, back when he had been an addict of opium. The buildings he had slept in back then looked similar to the ones that stood now.

 _His majesty... he'd be heartbroken to see this,_ he thought. And it was true. For all of his faults (and he had  _a lot_  of them), Percy was kind and he genuinely cared for his kingdom, and he had unflinching loyalty to people he considered to be his family.

"It's you." A young voice said, and Jason spun around, heart hammering. It was that girl that his majesty had played with earlier. He couldn't even remember her name. He crouched down and forced a smile on his face.

"Hey," he said. "Where's your brother?" Her name... it began with an "M", like his mother's and her brother's was... Abraham? He had heard that name somewhere— perhaps in a book?

Her gray eyes fell. "He got swept up in the wave, like some of the others. I haven't been able to find him."

"Oh." Words failed him as they normally did whenever he was in highly emotional situations. He wasn't a natural speaker like his Majesty or Reyna.  _Reyna._ A pang in his heart—he wasn't sure if it was because he missed her, or if he felt guilty because he had barely thought of her, and had instead been focused on Piper, with her lovely ever-changing eyes and her kind smile and softly spoken words.

"Can you help me look for him, sir?" The girl asked, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. They were shiny, and pulled at his heartstrings so much he had to look away. He didn't know how he and his majesty escaped exactly, he suspected his majesty had done something to manipulate the water somehow, but he knew that no normal mortal man could survive in an unnatural wave like that. To lead her on would be cruel... To tell the truth would be merciless, but nobody ever had bothered to tell him the truth when he asked. If somebody had, perhaps he would have been able to not have so many problems when he was growing up.

Then again, he might still have them anyway, or he might have not met his majesty. The last one he wouldn't trade for the world. That was the funny thing about "what ifs;" there simply was no use in trying to figure them out.

_Margaret? Is that her name? Or is Martial?_

"I... I can't, lass. If your brother hasn't shown up by now, he won't show up ever."

Her eyes watered, and he felt like an ass. Granted, he often felt like an ass in some way or another (especially whenever he thought of Reyna, and the fact that he  _couldn't_  stopthinking about Piper), but this was even more so. This was a child, a little girl, who he was telling flat out that he couldn't look for her brother. He was practically telling the girl her brother was dead without even looking. No, he  _was_ telling the girl her brother was dead. Period.

"You're trying to tell me big brother is dead?" Her voice was steady, but her eyes were practically swimming from the tears she hadn't shed. Jason looked away.

"I'm sorry."

She hiccupped. "I don't believe you, sir. Big brother is the only one there for me, since mama and papa are gone too. He's the only family I have left."

_"Is she ever going to wake up again?"_

_"No."_

He still remembered that day so clearly, the day his sister had died because they hadn't been able to afford the medicine to bring down her raging fever. That had been the day his mother had withdrawn from him and the downward spiral had begun.

"I'm so sorry." And he was. He didn't know what else to say, because it wasn't like he could bring her back to  _Roma_ with him. It wasn't that he was worried about what people would think of him —he couldn't care any less about them, especially the nobility who were a pain to deal with. It was Octavius who he was worried about. His majesty's pater was crueler in more ways than his majesty could imagine, let alone actually see. He'd probably sell her into prostitution as a freeloading citizen, or worse—get into the wrong crowd. He certainly knew how bad gang violence was.

The girl stood up and walked away. He watched her go.

* * *

So, it was quite understandable that he was upset, which only amplified when he saw Malcolm sitting in the shade under a tree... sleeping. He seethed. How the Hell had that- that spineless toady escape that wave that unscratched while he and his majesty had been injured?

Malcolm must have woken up just as Jason walked past him —because he honestly had been trying to avoid picking a fight, honestly!— because he heard him shout, "Jason!"

Jason halted. He shouldn't have come back here, he realized too late. His temper was beginning to boil under the surface again, and when that happened he usually did something stupid. And he wanted to avoid doing something stupid... but how? Should he walk away or address him? What should he do?

The choice was taken away when Malcolm touched his shoulder. He froze, and then he slowly turned his head.  _No one_ was allowed to touch him unless he gave them explicit permission. Except for Reyna; he didn't really have a choice when it came to her.

Malcolm withdrew his hand. "Um. Hi. How are you? Where's Percy?" He looked over his shoulder, as if he was expecting his majesty to appear out of thin air. Jason couldn't believe his nerve.

"He's recovering."

A sheepish expression materialized on his face. "About that... I'm sorry. I kind of panicked."  _I was panicking too!_ But he hadn't know his majesty as long as he had, or even who he was. "That doesn't make you feel better, does it?"

"No." He answered bluntly. "Good bye." He turned on his heel and began marching back the way he had came. Malcolm swerved in front of him, walking backwards as he somehow kept up with his pace. He quickened his steps until he was jogging.

"Look, I'm sorry and I really hope Percy's okay. But you can't hold a grudge against someone whose fight or flight instinct kicked in."

"Actually yes, I can." He muttered under his breath. He turned sharply, ducking into an ally. Malcolm followed him easily.

"Jason, I really am sorry. But you can't expect for me to endanger my life for someone I barely even know."

 _He's your future king!_ Jason thought. But then he realized. _No. He wasn't._ Because Malcolm hadn't known that at the time, and his majesty didn't want him to know. They were incognito for a reason—imagine the reaction they were receive from the nobility if they ever found out that he left the palace for dangerous reasons. Imagine the  _populorum_ reaction.

"You're right. I'm being unreasonable." He exhaled shortly through his nose. "I'm sorry."

Malcolm smiled. "I knew you'd understand eventually." Jason stiffened at the slight arrogant tone he took on. Oh, he hated,  _hated_ it when people were condescending toward him. Just because he hadn't had a good education like Reyna or his majesty or occasionally slipped in some "peasant" slang didn't mean he was stupid. If anything, his intelligence was fairly high. "I just wish more people would listen to each other. The Caesar is a power hungry tyrant who conquers more and more land. I'm sure his son will follow in his footsteps."

Jason didn't think about it—he just acted on instinct. He swung around, pulling his arm back and letting it fly toward his face.

The crunch of bone snapping was surprisingly satisfying, even though his hand hurt immediately afterward.

* * *

Percy woke up when he heard someone crossing into the room, grumbling and cursing under his breath as he tripped over something. He laid still, not giving away the fact that he was awake, listening... his sword was somewhere close by the right side of the mat he slept on.

"Son of a bitch," a familiar voice grumbled and he relaxed. It was just Jason. He sat up, silently rejoicing at the fact that his shoulder hadn't hurt. They would be able to leave in a couple of days, hopefully.

"What happened?" He asked. His curiosity was aroused now that he was not half asleep or trying to figure out if he was an intruder; besides, it wasn't often Jason got upset enough to let it show in his voice. Jason stilled.

"Did I wake you up?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter."

He huffed softly. "Sorry."

Percy rolled his eyes. It felt like he was evading the conversation now. "Well?"

"I... went to Tarentum."

He frowned. "Without me?" He wasn't sure if he should feel annoyed about that or not; he'd been planning on going to Tarentum as soon as he was able.

"Yeah. I just wanted to scout it out. It suffered quite a bit of damage."

Percy fell against the mat with a groan. "Great. Is that why you were swearing?"

"Actually, that's because my hand hurts."

He sat up again. "What? What did you do  _now?"_ Worry fluttered into his consciousness and he kicked the threadbare blanket off. He'd have to figure out a way to leave their supplies here...

"Why do you always think it's me?"

"Because it usually  _is_ you," he fired back without pausing as he stood and felt his way through the room. Well, it looked like Annabeth was rubbing off on him—she was the one who was a spitfire. Jason huffed.

"I only punched Malcolm."

"You did  _what?!_ "

"Shh!"

He listened carefully for a few moments. He couldn't hear Demetria stumbling or Darius grumbling, so he relaxed. "Gods so help me, Jason..." he started again, turning his attention back to his idiot of a friend. "It's not worth it."

"I know." Jason said dryly. "I couldn't help it though when he started insulting you and the Caesar. Mostly you."

"While I'm touched you defended my honor," he was quite sure his drawling was practically  _dripping_ with sarcasm. Well, he was tired and cranky. "It's not necessary. A lot of people insult my pater and me. I'm used to it."

"I know, but, the things they say... it's not true. Mostly. You can be a bit of a prat at times."

"Jason," he said softly. He smiled despite himself. It was so  _typical_ of him to insult and defend him at the same time; that was the reason why he trusted him so much. His honesty, while not always appreciated, was something he needed because many people seemed to be scared of his status. "It's okay. I'll prove them wrong one day."

"...I know, your majesty. That's why I follow you."

Percy sat down on the mat, watching as his friend did the same even though he could barely see him. "You know, you revolted me once."

"I revolt myself sometimes still."

He tried to clasp his hands behind his head, but his shoulder panged so he curled up by using only one arm as a cushion. "I'm ignoring that. Seriously, Jason. I'm glad I know you."

"...I'm not hugging you again. That only happens once each season."

"I'm just telling you."

"Yeah. I know. I'm glad I know you too, Percy."

He flipped over and closed his eyes. "Go to sleep, reckless fool." But his tone was laced with affection and he truly didn't mean it.

* * *

"I'd like to see the eternal city before I die, Percy." Demetria's voice had a dreamlike quality to it, pulling him away from sharpening his sword. "Will you let me see it one day?"

He tilted his head, watching as she stepped up to him, and proceeded to trip over a tree root. Before he could even move, she had caught herself.

"One day." He promised her. "I have to go back soon though. Maybe tomorrow." Because he really did need to get back; his pater had to be getting worried, and he missed Annabeth.

"Okay. I trust you."

He held his sword up to inspect it, and deemed it satisfactory, so he sheathed it, the clang echoing through the cleaning. He stood. "I'll lead you back."

* * *

The day they left, Demetria kissed him.

Percy stared at nothing for a moment, his brain not comprehending what just happened—she'd just practically flown at him as if she were  _not_ blind and launched her face at his— while his eyes watched her swipe at her mouth and make faces.

"Yuck. That's disgusting. Why did I do that? Why do people like this?"

 _Wait, I was just an experiment? And she didn't like it?_ He felt almost insulted, which was ridiculous because he  _knew_ Annabeth had no problem with kissing him. "You know I have a wife, right?" He decided to ask, mostly because he didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah, I figured it when papa stopped asking me if I  _like liked_ you." Her tone was unapologetic, and he was quite sure his jaw had dropped. Darius had done  _what?_ How did he not realize it before? How did he miss that? He was supposed to be observant and aware of his surroundings incase of an assassination threat—"I just wanted to see what it felt like, and you were there."

"...Thanks." He said dryly. He didn't know why she hadn't just kissed Jason instead. Wouldn't that have made more sense? "Don't do it again."

She looked at some place over his shoulder, her clouded jade eyes not focusing on anything. "Are you joking? That was the grossest thing I've ever done in my life!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'll tell Annabeth you said that."

"Annabeth?" her eyebrows furrowed.

"My wife. She seems to have no problem kissing me." He explained.

Her face suddenly went white as chalk, which worried him—was that his fault somehow? "Oh, my gods, Annabeth's the name of the Heir Apparent... and your name is Perseus. Oh, please don't tell me I just kissed the Heir Apparent of Roma."

He rubbed the back of his head. "Um..."

She turned green. "I did. Papa's going to kill me."

He laughed a little, but felt sympathetic toward her plight. He'd had a few of those moments himself with Rachel. "I won't tell."

Her expression relaxed, "Thanks," and then she frowned, her eyebrows furrowing together with her frown. "Will we ever see you and Sir Jason again?"

"Of course!" He said reflexively, and then he paused. That wasn't enough. He had to make sure she was able to come whenever she wanted, without fear of the consequences. So, when he spoke, he was mostly thinking out loud, "How about this; when I'm Caesar, I'll lower the taxes so much that you'll be able to come to Roma whenever you want, and no one will have to worry about becoming a slave because they couldn't pay it off."

Her eyes brightened. "Really?"

"Yes, really." He rolled his eyes. "I don't make promises without intending to follow through on them."

She smiled widely. "That's brilliant! Although, I think I'd like to live in Roma itself—I want to move away from here."

"Well, not right now." He said softly. "The Caesar is especially unforgiving whenever someone can't pay taxes." His eyebrows furrowed. He knew the men became slaves, but what about the women? Actually, he had never  _seen_ a woman slave before . . . "Yeah, definitely not right now." . . . How come he never saw women slaves?

"All right then, when you're king." She tapped her foot against the ground and crossed her arms. "Although, I get a strange feeling we'll meet again before that."

He smiled. "We'll know it when the time comes." He held his hand out, but she ignored it in favor of giving him a quick hug.

"Yeah." She pulled away. "You'll be a great king one day, Percy. One of the greatest I think. Fair and just. A lot of kings aren't like that—Hades, a lot of  _men_ aren't that way."

_Is this really the way you want to rule this land?_

He shook his head to get that girl's words out of his head. Why did they always pop up when he was talking to someone?

"Percy!" Jason called, and he looked away from Demetria. Darius was limping over steadily, while Jason jogged. He waited for them to walk over before he spoke again.

"I can't thank you enough for taking care of us," he said. "Is there  _anything_ I can do to repay you?"

"Just change this country, child. You're one of the few that can. That's all I ask." Percy frowned. Did he—how did he know he was Heir Apparent? Darius smiled. "You're not very subtle about it—your accent is too aristocratic for one, you called yourself Perseus when you first woke up, and you said you were from Roma. It's quite easy to figure it out."

Percy wanted to smack himself.

"To be fair, he had a concussion." Demetria said, and she grinned at him. "You were quite talkative that second time you woke up. The first one, you wanted to kill the light or something."

Jason snickered. "He never really was a morning person."

Percy rolled his eyes. "Traitor. You're supposed to support me or something, aren't you?"

"I only support you when you aren't being an idiot."

"So loyal." He muttered. He turned back to Darius. "I'll do my best." He promised.

"And that's all I can ask."

As they walked the Via Appia, because Jamie Boy and Jason's stallion had disappeared, he felt like he had wings.

_When I'm Caesar..._


	33. Capvt XXXIII: Heartstrings

_“I would have known her anywhere and I would have followed her anywhere. She came wordlessly, and wordlessly, I followed.” –Eaven Boland_

Capvt XXXIII: Heartstrings  

**Rome**

**THE** weather was perfect for a day so late in autumn. There were no clouds in the deep blue sky, so the sun could warm the earth. It wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t hot either—the temperature was perfect, so that if she wished, Annabeth could walk outside and stay out there without breaking into a sweat or needing something heavier than a toga.

Still, she wanted to hit something. It was too perfect, this weather, as if it had forgotten too that Percy had died.

Some time had passed since they had received news of his… passing— enough, apparently, for Roman nobility to begin pestering her about what she was going to do now that she was currently the sole Heir of Rome. So far, she had turned down three proposals and thrown out so many roses that she had lost count.

It infuriated her so bad her hands shook, and she had reached the point that she had begun to snap at _Piper_ of all people. Though Piper hadn’t been any better either, snapping at her over the strangest of things, which baffled Annabeth. She knew that she hadn’t done anything to upset her, so why… why now? Then she would feel guilty over being short with her friend, which would make her angry.

Nico was a godsend though, with his blunt sense of humor and honesty that she didn’t really appreciate at the time. After she had ranted about the nobility and Piper, he had called her a mess. She figured he was right— especially since she felt like she was about to cave in from all the pressure and just explode like that time when she had made a paste made out of baking powder and water to draw out a bee sting. Eventually, there would be no room left inside of her to take it, and it would just fly out of her like a huge mass of chaos and destruction.

…And then Octavius would execute her, because she wasn’t naïve enough anymore to believe he would show mercy toward her. He hadn’t done it for his son, who was his own flesh and blood. And _that_ was another reason why she was so on edge. Octavius hadn’t spoken to her —or even looked at her— since they had heard about what happened, and that scared her. What was he planning to do with her? Was he going to ship her off back to Greece? But he couldn’t, because she was now the only heir. Marry her off? That was more likely. At any rate, she doubted she would leave the confines of the palace walls ever again.

_Ow._

Her hand was cramping. Drawn out of her thoughts, she glared down at the piece of chalk and the board she had been writing Greek letters and words against. There was a knock against the door, and Thalia let herself in without waiting for her to respond. Annabeth groaned. She couldn’t handle Thalia right now. Her personality tested her patience on the best of days, and today was _not_ a good day for her.

 “You need to get out into the sunshine.” Thalia declared loudly, propping her fisted hands on her hips. Her eyes stared at her like icy daggers, but that was just her normal expression. "You look paler than a British man."

She leaned back in her chair and drawled out a slow, “Thanks.” Thalia’s stare didn’t level out; instead, it only became more intense, as if she knew that she was trying to distract her. Annabeth looked away and rubbed her biceps, as if that would chase away the lingering chill that had presided over her since the… news of his death.

To be honest, she didn’t want to go outside during the daytime. At night, however, was different. She had never really been a night person until recently, but now she felt the most alive under the silver moonlight that caressed her skin instead of the bright, blinding sunlight of day.

It was probably because of her strange sleeping schedule too.

“I just really don’t want to go outside… haven’t really wanted to in a while.” She offered as an explanation, and Thalia’s eyes softened. She walked over, hugged her, and her arms were so steady and warm and secure that Annabeth allowed herself a moment to close her eyes and lean her head against her shoulder. Just for a moment.

Thalia played with her hair, and she made a sound of contentment from the back of her throat. “I’m not going to force you to do anything, Annie. I know I didn’t know him very well, but I think Percy wouldn’t have wanted you to become so… lifeless.”

She played with the edge of her _chiton_ for a moment, contemplating her words. She hadn’t really been able to motivate herself to do anything, which she knew was unhealthy…. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to walk around a little. She’d been cooped up indoors for a while, other than her nightly escapades to the training grounds.

It wasn’t like Percy was going to come back to life or anything if she didn’t take care of herself.

"Okay." She agreed, pulling away from Thalia a little."I'll come with you." Because she knew that at some point, she'd have to get outside, even if she would be surrounded by at least ten bodyguards. She was the only heir now... she and her "unborn child."

 _Oh, gods..._ She wasn’t sure what she was going to do about that— she’d already been getting questions about why she wasn’t showing yet, and it’d only been a few months.

Thalia’s arms tightened, and Annabeth suddenly felt a small bump bulging gently against her arm. It was barely noticeable, really, but her eyes still widened. That… was a maternity bump; it had to be. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Thalia hadn’t been able to conceive for such a long time… She had thought she was barren, and Annabeth _remembered_ how ashamed she’d felt. She had held her in her arms when Thalia had broken down that day…

She pulled away, hope for her friend fluttering in her chest. “Are you…?” She dropped her gaze down, and Thalia’s smile became soft as she nodded, her hand dropping to her stomach. Now that Annabeth was actually paying attention, it was certainly bulging out slightly. It wasn’t very noticeable, really, but Annabeth felt a little guilty for not noticing before.

“Yes.” She said, slightly breathless but the sheer _joy_ in her tone… “There’s a little life growing in there.”

Awe. Complete, utter awe filled her. The smile curved at her lips as something inside of her settled. Yes, people died every day and that was sad—but people were also born every day, and life would continue on. It was this amazing circle that just kept going on and on, like the seasons, and it was constant.

She laughed and threw her arms around Thalia’s shoulders, standing up. Thalia giggled.

“That’s amazing! Oh, my gods—how far along are you? Ahhhhh, I’m so happy for you!” And she was. She felt like singing at the top of her lungs and skipping through sunlit meadows. Her head felt like she was in the clouds and she was flying. Thalia’d wanted a child for so long… And now her dreams were finally coming true. “Does anyone else know? I mean, other than Luke? Can I be the godmother or something? Actually, I take that back. I want to be the _aunt_ that gets to spoil him or her—Piper’s got more of the godmother personality. Eeeeee!”

Thalia’s shoulders shook from her laughter as she wrapped one arm across her back. “You’re more excited than I am. He’s a strong healthy baby, just like his papa.” She pulled away a little, but kept her arm slung across her shoulder blades. “We were waiting for all of you to figure it out. You’re the first one to—oh, dammit. I can already see his smug smirk in my mind. We betted on which of you will be the first to figure it out… I thought it was going to be Piper or Nico. _Why?_ Piper’s more observant than you are, and Nico has the death-y, son of Hades thing going for him. Isn’t he _supposed_ to be able to sense dual life forces or something?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face was stretched so wide she felt like it was practically diving it in half. Of _course_ they would bet on who would find out first—it was so _typical_ of them.

“I’m pretty sure Hades doesn’t do that… but, oh, my gods, girl. You’re _pregnant_ and it only took forever! Have you thought of any names?”

“Well, Luke thinks that the baby is going to be a girl so he likes Helen or Athena for her name. _I_ think the baby is going to be a boy, but I haven’t really thought of any names for him. It’s been kind of surreal, I guess? A dream? I like John, though. Maybe. Or Peter. I’m _not_ naming him after Luke.”

Annabeth smirked at that. “Is his “Overprotective Papa” mode kicking in already?”

Thalia rolled her eyes, throwing her arms up in the air. “Like you wouldn’t _believe._ I mean, honestly, he got concerned when I reached up to get _a blanket_ out of a cabinet. I’m pregnant—not on my deathbed. And the day before that, he was worried that with how active I’ve been lately, I would hurt the baby. I mean, sure, I’m in my second trimester, but I’ve been careful to make sure I don’t injure him.”

“Well, now that _I_ know…”

“I know, I know. No more bodyguard duties.” Thalia pretended to look annoyed, but the smile on her face ruined the image. “I haven’t really had to worry about that lately anyway since, _girlie,_ you’ve gotten _abs”_ —she poked her rib cage— “and _muscles_ ” —and then her biceps— “and I have _no idea_ when or how you got those, but it’s made my job a _lot_ easier.”

Annabeth waved her pointer finger threatening in her face, but her warm cheeks probably made her look more comedic than threatening. “I’m serious. No more jumping out of trees or punching some _buffoon_ —”

“Oooh, buffoon? That’s a new one. Did you get it from Percy?”

She ignored the twinge of sadness in her chest. “—in the face or chopping _concrete tables_ with your _hand_ and you are going to _take. it. easy._ ”

“Wow. Okay.” Thalia waved her hand around in front of her face, as if she was clearing the air. “I was planning on telling you that I was resigning soon anyway, but it looks like the choice has been taken out of my hands.”

She battled with the urge to shove her like she would have done if she hadn’t been pregnant, and substituted it for a measly roll of her eyes. “Aren’t we going on a walk or something, Mama Bear?”

“I thought having too much strain on my body is danger—”

“Thalia. It’s a _walk._ And you’re the one who convinced me to go out in the first place.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, staring at her for a moment and Annabeth crossed her arms underneath her chest, unable to bite back the smug smile she knew was gracing her face because she had _finally_ gotten the last word in.

“…When did you become this insufferable?” Thalia asked eventually, sounding genuinely confused and Annabeth chuckled under her breath. She’d told Percy he was insufferable once, when they’d been training one night, and he had laughed too. Maybe parts of his personality had influenced her a little.

Or maybe she’d always been that way and hadn’t shown it.

She rubbed the back of her neck and smiled at her. “Let me get a little more presentable.” _And let me grab my saber to hide in the folds of my toga._

~…~

And that was how Annabeth ended up walking around outside in the fresh air, with Thalia on her shoulder and about ten bodyguards hovering around, though not immediately next to her. Happiness thrummed through her veins at the news of Thaluke Babies, but Percy’s closed-lip smile hovered in the back of her mind. 

She shook her head. _I wish I knew what to do..._ she thought, silently running her fingers over a jeweled ornament for someone’s hair. It was pretty in a nondescript way. Pretty, but useless. Now, if it had been some type of pin that could turn into a dagger… a weapon hidden in plain sight…

There was a chattering sound, of excitement and something that she didn't quite overhear. It brought her out of her thoughts, though she shook her head to clear her mind. She caught Thalia’s icy gaze with hers, but she just shrugged as if she was just as confused as she was. What on earth could possibly stir the crowds this much?

"Thalia?"

Thalia looked confused. "I'm not sure. It's probably just a street performer."

But Annabeth was almost positive that it was impossible for a street performer to draw so many people to one area. After all, humans rarely paid attention to anyone that needed it. They were always so busy living their own lives…

Nervous tension made her curious and jittery as she debated between walking away or surging through the crowds. If she walked forward, she could get caught up in a mob if something went wrong… and she wasn’t sure if the bodyguards would be thrilled with her. She knew Thalia would have no issue keeping up with her because of her tiny, lithe body, but the burly, muscular bodyguards would have to stay back.

More people were walking toward the commotion. A few of the stand owners had even abandoned their fine wares and had disappeared into the crowds. For a moment, she stood still, on the toes of her feet, tense and waiting. She wanted to go, but she should stay.

But… she wanted to know what was attracting the crowds. Like a moth to a flame. That was the closest analogy she could think of.

She hesitated for one moment, before she rolled her eyes and pushed the sleeves up. _Oh, to Tartarus with it,_ she thought. It had to be _something_ important to draw in so many crowds—though hopefully not a stoning or flogging.

Her stomach churned at the thought of a crowd gathering around someone being flogged and she curled her lip up.

“Annabeth? What are you…” Someone seized her wrist in a viselike grip. Heart in her throat, she spun around, fully intending to yank her arm free, before she realized that it was just Thalia again. _Am I getting paranoid?_ “Oh, you have _got_ to be joking.”

Instead of responding, Annabeth merely smiled —something that felt much more tempered than her once wide grin—and marched toward the crowd. She heard Thalia let out an exaggerated sigh as she chased after her, snagging her wrist in a tight grip again. Annabeth weaved her way into the crowd, using her small body to her advantage.

There were grumbles and mutters as she shoved her wave through the tangle of limbs, but she didn’t want to apologize. She wanted to figure out what was the source of all of this attention. Perhaps a building had caught on fire? Or collapsed? Perhaps a tower had abruptly leaned over? _The Leaning Tower of Rome._

Somehow, she lost Thalia in the crowd but she wasn’t worried. Well, maybe she was a little. Thalia could take care of herself, but she didn’t want her to do something stupid in an effort to protect her. They might have joked about her muscles earlier, but she knew that Thalia didn’t really think she was capable of protecting herself. After all, she had no idea she knew how to use a weapon, let alone a saber.

“Who’s alive?” Someone asked, coming from her right side. A man was looking at a woman—a maid, perhaps? Or a slave? The woman shook her head, looking just as lost, so Annabeth moved forward. After all, there was no use in wasting her time over something that was obviously just a dead end.

“We thought you were dead!” Someone cried. The crowd was growing a little thinner now, but she froze. The only person who could draw this many people was Percy… except he was dead. Right?

“Are you all right, my lord? You don’t look entirely well.”

A joyful laugh pierced through Annabeth, and she stopped. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. It’s just been a rough couple of days getting back.

That drawl… She knew that drawl. It was his, no doubt about it. But how… How was this possible?

"See?" The voice had a hint of laughter on his tongue, and she began to elbow her way through the crowds even more vigorously. No way. There was no way... "I'm not dead. Why would you think I was anyway?"

"Tarentum was destroyed though!"

"Aye, that it was." Another voice said – Jason's – and her heart raced. "We were investigating the ocean when we saw the wave though, so we were able to get out of the way."

"Really Praetor?" Another voice asked, a younger, female voice. So close... she could see the edge of the crowd. "But wouldn't it have swept you up too?"

"I'm not really sure what happened." The other voice – _Percy's_ – said, stilling the chatter of the crowd with it alone. As she finally stepped through the crowd and stood at the edge, she wondered how he did that so easily: put a crowd at ease with just his voice and a few simple words. "All I know is that we're alive and I'm grateful for that. It saddens me that Taren...tum..."

Like two halves of a whole finally fitting together again, as if a force from the gods themselves drove them together, his eyes locked with hers, and her heart felt like it stopped in that instant. He stood as he always had: tall, shoulders back, just like a general. His green eyes pitched and hurled like the Mare Nostrum with that maddening emotion she could never quite put her finger on. He licked his lips, and she watched them part, and she knew that her name was slipping off his tongue.

Her feet were moving forward on their own. One step out, and then another. Her legs felt weak though, as if they would collapse underneath her. A fog had descended on her mind, even though there was a loud ringing in her ears. A distant part of her, the part that was still functioning normally, had noticed that the crowds had gone deathly silent, so silent that she probably would have been able to hear a pin drop.

He stepped forward too, and then she was flying across the ground. Her feet barely touched the ground as she raced over to him, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest.

They collided. His arms wrapped around her back securely as he lifted her off her feet and spun her around, probably because of the momentum of her run and the collision. She clutched the back of his neck, perhaps a little too tight to be comfortable but he didn’t say anything as he put her back down on the ground. She stood on her tippy-toes, pressing herself as close as she possibly could to his warmth, and his lips ghosted over her hair.

“Annabeth?”

She shuddered. He smelled of dirt and sweat, and something distinctively of the ocean though she couldn't quite pinpoint it. His breathing was loud against her ear, and his breath hot against her neck as he dropped his chin from her hair. And her name. He said her name with his stupidly smooth voice and, _oh gods…_ “Say it again.”

“What? Your name?” She could hear the smile in his voice, but she knew he wasn’t teasing her.  She nodded mutely. “Annabeth.” Warmth filled her and a few tears slipped out of her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them in. It, the warmth, welled in her heart and spilled over so that her entire _chest_ felt warm, all the way from her stomach to her fingertips, to her ears, to her toes.

“Percy. Perseus.”

His arms tightened to the point where it was almost painful, but she didn’t care as she pressed her lips against her chest. They stood still for a moment, silent, and she forgot that the world was still moving on.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled away from her slightly. But his hands rose up her sides and down her arms until his fingers intertwined with her fingers. She squeezed tightly them tightly, clearing her throat softly to get rid of the lump that had formed. They felt different now, his hands. But they still felt the same too. Those callused still emitted that steadying warmth in the same way they always had: when he held her hand after he’d been flogged, when he had helped her to stand back onto her own two feet each time she fell to the ground, when he pulled her up onto trees and walls to sit with him.

Perhaps it wasn’t him. Maybe it was just her. Maybe _her_ hands had changed.

( _Or maybe I’m just being melodramatic,_ the rational side of her brain butted in ruthlessly. She decided to ignore it.)

She looked into her eyes. _Are you okay?_ They were asking, and she nodded minutely. She tried to tell him _I am now._

He must have gotten her message, because he pulled her back into his chest for a long moment, keeping her right hand tangled up with his. She didn’t mind. All she did was close her eyes and rested her forehead against his collarbone. His breath hitched.

"I've missed you," he breathed.

"I know." She answered simply, because there was nothing else to say.

He pulled away from her again, but she chased after his warmth by pressing herself against his side, interlocking her arm with his. His lips curled up into a smile, and she smiled back at him. There was something charged in the silence as they looked at each other, and it sent her heart racing.

“Well, don’t stop just for me.” Thalia drawled, and Annabeth’s cheeks warmed a little, but she couldn’t bring herself to _really_ be embarrassed. She dragged her gaze away from his eyes (beautiful, _alive_ eyes) to glare at her. Thalia looked amused, with that sparkle in her eyes and her hand on her hip, but she could tell that she was relieved as well. There were no actual facial expressions—she just looked more relaxed, and the smile was wider. Percy chuckled.

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that Thalia. They’re kind of sweet.” Jason responded, a wry smirk twisting his lips up. “Hi, Lady Annabeth. Sorry for worrying you.”

That was when the chatter suddenly erupted again like a roar, as if the people had been waiting for Jason to speak up again. Like glass falling and hitting the ground, the moment shattered into a thousand tiny pieces, but she didn’t really mind. This was his people, and she understood that Rome came first. The questions were directed toward Percy, several of them along the lines of “what happened?” and “no kissing?” and “is Tarentum all right?” Percy answered each and every one calmly and politely, but she noticed that he didn’t elaborate on many of his answers.

Well, except for the kissing ones. He ignored those.


	34. Capvt XXXIV: Unspoken Words

_“When I first met you, I never realized how much you would end up meaning to me.” – Anonymous_

Capvt XIV: Unspoken Words

 **ANNABETH** closed the door behind her with a soft click and slid to the ground. She breathed in deeply, once, twice thrice. She closed her eyes, sliding to the ground as she buried her head into her hands.

He was alive. Perseus was alive. Percy wasn't dead.

The emotion hurled over her like a wave, crashing against her. She shuddered and gasped, and the rock wall she had built around her heart came crashing down. He was alive. She didn't know how he was alive, but she knew she had seen him earlier in the markets. He wasn't dead. He was alive. He was breathing and talking and reporting to Octavius Caesar and alive. Alive. Living.

Her shoulders shook as she sobbed into her hand, clutching the back of her neck as she folded over. She dropped her hand from the back of her neck to wrap around her stomach, as if that could hold her together. The cold air bit into her skin, except she knew that it wasn’t really all that cold.

 He was alive and not dead and okay and— Oh, gods. She had been able to _touch_ him again. She’d been able to feel his skin against her palms, warm and radiating heat as always. She had been able to see those green eyes sparkle at her in that strange emotion he possessed that she never could quite put her finger on and she’d seen those lips twist up into that smirk.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive. Not dead. Alive. He was well. And alive. And not dead. And—

What if it had been a dream though? What if it had been a crazy, wonderful dream? She... she... She didn’t know what she would do if it turned out to be a dream. And she didn’t want to _think_ it was a dream. The idea was horrible. She didn’t _want_ it to be a dream. Not at all. If it had been a dream... She… Then that would mean that Percy wasn’t alive, and she didn’t want that.

"Annabeth?"

She jerked up, and their gazes locked, steel on sea. Percy was standing in the doorway, his eyebrows furrowed together. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn’t move. She was frozen to the ground—because what if he wasn’t alive? What if he was a dream or an illusion her mind had created to deal with the grief? What if, what if, what if… She couldn’t risk it. She couldn’t. She couldn’t let this shatter—she wanted him to be alive so _bad._ But she was so scared and…

His eyes widened, and she realized that he must have figured something out. Then something in them softened, and he stepped forward. She flinched when he stood within touching distance. She couldn’t live through the grief again… wasn’t even sure if she would _now…_ if this turned out to be a dream…

He crouched down in front of her so that they were at eye level. Her breathing hitched in the back of her throat, but she didn’t dare to release it in case he shattered like a broken mirror. His eyes locked with hers, and she couldn’t look away, but that didn’t really matter for the moment. She knew he was searching for something, though she had no idea what.

“I’m still here, Annabeth. I promise. I’m okay. I’m alive. I’m sorry.”

She exhaled loudly. Her fingers were cold. Incredibly cold. But she didn’t want to move them. She was so scared… and she was _hopeful._ What if this wasn’t a dream? What if he was real, and not a clone?

“You’re alive?”

His lips curled up into a soft smile and he nodded. Impulsively, she looked at his eyes—really looked into them, and tilted her head at what she found there. They were soft. And open. Far more so than she ever believed was possible. She saw something in there, hidden behind the warmth. A fire. No, not a fire—a spark. Something small and not quite there, but thriving and growing, waiting for the right moment to ignite.

 _That_ was what it was. His eyes. That was what kept drawing her to him; what she kept seeing but she was never able to put her finger on it. His eyes looked like they were on fire; burning, flickering, lighting up like a wildfire, and then smoldering away into coals and ashes, waiting to be lit again. Burning, warmth, always there— and always alive.

Something great was hidden in them. It wasn’t fully developed. It wasn’t even really visible. But it kept drawing people to him, like moths to a flame— _his_ flame. This was what her matera had been talking about all those months ago, when she said that Percy would be one of the greatest of the Roman emperors.

They were so close to each other now. She hadn’t even realized that she had moved until their noses brushed against each other, and his warm breath fanned against her cheeks, and then her neck.

“I…” _I want to touch you,_ she wanted to say, but the words caught in her throat for some reason. He must have read her expression, because he nodded slightly.

“It’s okay.” _I want you to touch me._

Slowly, ever so achingly slow, her fingers rose from her lap to the air. They trembled as she held them close to his cheeks, though from fear or longing, she didn’t know. Her heartbeat was erratic, but she tried to steady her nerves. Percy, ever so patient, raised an eyebrow at her and she nearly broke out into a fit of laughter.

“Annabeth, I’m not going anywhere, but my knees are getting a little sore.”

She snorted. It wasn’t ladylike _at all_ and she didn’t care. His lips twitched, and so, before she could lose her nerve, she placed her too cold fingertips against his cheeks.

Warmth.

His eyelids fluttered shut and she lifted her hands to brush her fingertips over the soft skin that protected his beautiful, beautiful eyes. She heard him swallow, but she didn’t pay any attention to that. She pressed her fingers over the area right next to his eyes, feeling the slight dip between his cheekbone and his forehead. His hair was longer—less tame and wilder. It made her think of the Spartans, who grew their hair long to give off an image of ferocity in battle. She smiled, her fingers sliding over the groove of his nose. She touched his lips.

She wasn't even aware she was crying until he had placed his thumb on her cheek and brushed the tears away.

"Percy..." she whispered hoarsely. He was so close to her now, their lips barely a millimeter apart... if she leaned forward even a little, his lips would be on hers. She licked her lips, which suddenly felt too dry, too chapped, and swallowed.

"I'm still here, Annabeth." She nodded weakly against his forehead, because that was the only thing she could do. Everything was overwhelming her in a beautiful way. His hands cupped her cheeks gently, the touch of skin on skin burning her. “I want to do something that may be a little stupid.” He confessed, a little breathless. His eyes were fixed on her lips.

“You do?” She said. Her heart was racing underneath her chest, but she knew that it was for a different reason this time. “I think I want to do something that may be a little stupid too.”

His lips twitched. “Annabeth?”

“Yes?” She breathed, her eyes closing her eyes half way.

“Can I kiss you?” She nodded without hesitation. Every part of her body was tingling as she shut her eyes entirely. The darkness fell over her like a shroud, and she held her breath, waiting.

And then his lips pressed against hers. She looped her arms around his neck, her heart swelling as their lips moved in sync, slowly, gently. A few tears burned her cheeks, and she didn’t even know if they were his or hers. His arm dropped down and wrapped around the lower part of her back, and he pulled her flush against him. A distant part of her noticed that her knees knocked against his.

He pulled away, and something like a whine built up in her chest. She managed to hold it back, but the irrational anger surged through her. She wanted to _kiss_ her husband whom she had thought was dead.  Properly kiss him, that was. So, she dropped her right hand from his neck and clutched the front of his toga.

He chuckled and said, “Impatient much?” She yanked him back down instead of rolling her eyes.

She muffled his gasp with her mouth, leaning back a little. Her teeth smarted from force of the collision, but she barely even noticed it. His lips were becoming harsher against hers, and she clutched his biceps as if that would make her feet stick to the ground. Heart racing, she angled her head into a better position to feel his lips against his. His touch was searing into her skin as his hands ran up and down her sides as a pleasant heat boiled down in her abdomen.

He pulled away, pushing his forehead against hers, gasping for breath. “Annabeth,” he rasped, sounding like a dying man who had just seen the light. She couldn’t think straight anymore. Her head was spinning all that she knew was that she wanted _him,_ all of him. She wanted to be his wife in every way possible. She wanted to laugh and cry and scream and bear his children. She wanted to grow old with him. She wanted to support him, wanted to have his back. She wanted to be his equal, his partner, his—

 _Oh gods._ The realization came to her with a startling clarity. She really _was_ in love with him. She had fallen for him. She was completely, utterly heads over heels for him. And suddenly, the world looked a little different to her.

“What? What is it?” His voice was deeper than normal, still raspy, and she noticed that his eyes dropped down to her lips for a moment before they pierced through hers again. She laughed a little and shook her head.

“Nothing,” she told him. She wanted to keep this to herself for now. Wanted to process it. Wanted to let it stay inside of her heart for a little while, that way she was the only one who knew about it. It was too new, too precious.

And then he was kissing her again, his hand braced against the wall as if he was trying to keep himself upright, but she didn’t really think about it. Her fingers knotted around his wild hair, her eyes squeezed shut. His tongue touched her lips, and heat spread all over her cheeks and her neck, down to her toes. She dropped her fingers down from his hair to his neck.

He pulled away for not even a heartbeat, and she growled under her breath, pulling him back against her. And then they were moving up, standing up, backpedaling several steps. One of his hands jumped up, cushioning her head from the collision with the wall. She pulled away and something like a _keen_ escaped his lips. Irrationally, pride swelled in her chest because _she_ had caused that sound, but she placed a finger on his lips to keep him from distracting her again.

“D-don’t—” He wasn’t even able to finish his sentence. She leapt up, but he must have sensed her thoughts somehow because his hands slid away from her elbows to grip her thighs as her legs wrapped around his waist. Her back pressed against the wall as he stared up at her with a slightly dazed expression, and a soft giggle escaped from her lips.

His eyes suddenly took on a mischievous gleam (she _knew_ that look) and then his lips were barely ghosting against her jaw line. She had no idea _how_ he managed to do it without even touching her skin, but her stomach twisted together in knots.

“Percy—” She rasped. _Not enough,_ that was the only rational thought that ran through her mind, and she wasn’t sure that that even was a rational thought, and a whimper escaped her lips. _Oh, my gods._

His lips pressed firmly against her jaw line when she tangled her fingers into his hair and pulled on it toward her. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she closed her eyes to block out the light. All that she knew was his warmth and the sensations he was invoking inside of her as his lips slid from her jaw line down her neck, over her shoulders. Her fingernails scraped against the wall as she threw her head back, silently moaning his name. _Fire._ His mouth moved against her collarbone in a trail of fire, before settling on one spot, setting a rhythm of _suck, bite, kiss, suck, suck, bite, kiss—_ Wait, no, that wasn’t a rhythm. Of their own accord, her hips buckled against his and he drew back with a startled gasp.

Nothing happened for a moment except that she was gasping for air – _oops, forgot I had to breathe –_ and he was panting, so she opened her eyes. He was staring at her, his eyes darkened by something, or maybe they were clouded over or— _oh._ She’d never seen what lust looked like before in a man’s eyes, but she was positive that was what it was. He shook his head a little, as if he was attempting to clear. Something like a smirk graced his face, making her heart flip again.

“Missed me, my lady?”

How in Tartarus was he able to still wisecrack after a kiss like that? She dropped down from his waist, and he stared at her as she stepped away from him. Something inside of her warmed as she realized that he hadn’t pinned her against the wall, even through her clouded thoughts of _must fix this_ , _this is unacceptable_ , _I can’t even think straight so why should he?_

He followed her with his eyes, and she noticed that the darkness was ebbing away, replaced with worry and… was that fear? She pivoted her body so that he was the one with his back against the wall, and something in his expression shifted as he licked his lips.

Still, he raised that _eyebrow._

That did it.

Standing on her toes, she wound her fingers through his hair and _yanked_ hard, pulling him down, down, down to her level. Somehow, though, the moment their lips met was far gentler than she expected it to be (or even _wanted_ ), with his long fingers pressed against her cheeks, gently tilting her chin up.

The ache slid away and all that was left was the warmth in her chest that made her lips turn up at the corners. She wasn’t sure how he managed to do it, make all the pieces fall into place again, but she didn’t mind at all.

By the gods, she had missed him.

“I’ve missed you too,” he breathed, barely pulling away. She must have spoken that out loud. The pause went on long enough that her legs started to ache from standing on her toes so long, but she wasn’t quite ready to move for some reason. His thumb brushed right over the shallow dip between her upper lip and his nose, and the simple action was enough to send her heart racing yet again. “Can you open your eyes for me, please?”

Her eyebrows dipped, confused with his request but she complied with it nonetheless. The softness in his expression made her heart soar higher, and he tugged at one of her curls that had fallen out of the up-do Thalia had put in her hair. The smile was small.

“The first thing I noticed about you that day was your curls.” The tone of his voice was something she had never heard directed at her before, let alone in his voice, but she somehow knew that the only word for it was reverence. “They were disheveled and tangled, and I think there were leaves stuck in between. I honestly thought you were a dimwit. But then you stared at me and… I felt something.” His voice cracked and his forehead pressed against hers, as if he couldn’t support it anymore. His eyes closed.

“I’d really loved Rachel, and when she died… I-I just stopped living. I was just a shell going through the motions of life. I wasn’t really here. Then you glared at me with that _spark_ and suddenly I was curious. Then you said you were the daughter of an Athenian politician, the princess and I just…” He gestured with his hands. Exhaled heavily. “It feels like I’ve been living in a world that is gray and white and black, and color is only just starting to bleed into it again now. I think I love you.” Then his eyes flew open, and he blinked once, twice, thrice—startled, as if he hadn’t meant to say all of that. Or maybe he had been thinking out loud and he hadn’t even realized those things.

Whatever it was, everything was beginning to overwhelm her in a wonderful way, and it was one of the most beautiful things that had happened to her. She dropped her fingers from the back of his head and caressed the back of his ear instead. He had nice ears too.

“I think I love you too,” she whispered, her pulse racing between her ears. She knew she loved him, but… she wanted to be patient with this. She wanted for it to be _real_ so badly, and it still felt so much like a dream. She began to pull her hand away, but he chased after it. So, she continued rubbing small circles underneath her earlobe, dipping down into the hallow between his head and his neck.

“What do we do now then?”

His hands were running up and down her sides, and it was beginning to get harder for her to think straight again, especially when a disheveled, bruised-lips Perseus was an _incredibly_ attractive, distracting sight. And, by Zeus, they hadn’t really moved more than a few millimeters apart. She could feel his warm breath fanning against her neck and that sent goose bumps erupting over her skin.

“We just… take it the way we have been?” She tried to look at his eyes instead of his lips, but those were just as distracting. What about his nose? “I mean, it’s been working, hasn’t it?” How was his _nose_ distracting?

“Annabeth,” his tone was borderline amused, but there was something heavy in it as well. “You’re pinning me against a wall, your lips are bruised, and your toga is slipping off your right shoulder. I’m not sure how much longer taking it at the pace we were at is going to work. At the rate we’re going, I may end up doing something stupid before the sun even sets.”

“I wouldn’t really mind that.” She felt ridiculously bold (and a little embarrassed by what she just said. Why was her mouth not paying any attention to her brain?) as she dropped her fingers from his ear to the back of his neck. Again. He gulped hard. Even his _Adam’s Apple_ looked incredibly kissable.  “At all.”

… Oh, forget it.

Throwing caution to the win, she moved forward and attached her lips to the front of his neck—right at the base of it. A strangled gasp escaped his lips as one of his arms tightened around her back, and his other hand cupped the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. She braced herself against the wall to keep herself from colliding with his chest. His pulse was racing against her lips, a reminder that he was still alive.

“W-Wait, Annabeth. We n-need to be r-ra-ration—agh!” His hands slid up and rested heavily on her shoulders, gently pushing at them. She pressed one last kiss against his pulse before she pressed her forehead against his collarbone. That was about all she could do—her head was completely intoxicated by him, and she didn’t want to move away in case this did turn out to be a dream. His chest was heaving, and she traced the hard muscles with her fingers. She’d done that too.

“I don’t really want to be rational.” She admitted quietly. She kissed his heart. That was racing too. His fingers ran through her hair, catching on the tangles that he had created.

“I don’t either,” his voice was leveler, but she knew now that she could so _easily_ change it so that the seams of perfection became undone. That smooth tongue could stutter and trip over words, at her touch. “But I don’t want to do something we might regret... I don’t want to destroy this accidentally. When we make love the first time, I want it to be special.” His fingers tilted her chin up so that she couldn’t avoid looking into his eyes. “I don’t want to do it impulsively… not with you.”

She frowned slightly. “We’ve been everything _but_ impulsive.”

“You kissed me that night without thinking it through.” His tone had a sarcastic lilt to it. There was a smirk playing with the corners of his lips. “You pushed me off our bed because you were startled.”

“Okay. So maybe I do stupid things in the heat of emotion sometimes…” She knew that those were minor instances compared to some of the other things she’d done in the heat of emotion. Like, the time she got him flogged —she still felt guilty about that sometimes, but she knew that he’d forgiven her. Forgiving herself, however, was a different matter. “But I’ve wanted to do this for a while… when I thought you were dead… I-I was horribly sad, but… there were so many things I regretted not doing. And not consummating, not being with child … Gods, I _want_ to bear your children. I didn’t even know how much until I thought you were gone.”

His eyes were bright— _tears_ , she realized. He was on the verge of tears. But he was smiling too. His fingers left her chin and trailed up the side of her face slowly, caressing it. His thumb brushed under her eyes as his forehead dropped against hers again. Was she crying again?

“And, well, when I found out Thalia was pregnant today, I just… I was happy for her, but there was this horrible ache in my chest too.”

His lips pressed against her forehead, too warm to be a dream, and a few more burning tracks slid down her cheeks. “I want that too.” He said softly. “But I still want to wait until our emotions settle down to make sure we’re not saying this in the heat of the moment. I still have questions I need to find the answers for… some of the things I saw in Tarentum.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. “They were horrifying. And I… I just don’t want our child to inherit a kingdom with a village like that. The gods only knows how many more are out there like that. I don’t want something like that in my subconscious the first time…”

He was struggling with finding the right words to say, but she understood what he was trying to tell her. She caught his hand and intertwined their fingers, pressing another kiss against his knuckles. She held it close to her heart.

“Okay.” She found herself saying. She barely recognized her voice at this point. “I’ll wait until we’re both ready, and we know that we’re ready. I hope you know that I’m going to help you find the answers to your questions.”

“You will?” He sounded a bit surprised, and she laughed a little, opening her eyes again. Her heart was so full right now. She felt like the stars had aligned and the universe was finally on her side.

Maybe it was.

“Do you really need to ask?” She hoped that those words would convey everything that was in her heart.  _I’ll follow you to the ends of Terra herself if you asked me to. I’ll jump into Tartarus if you fell, and I’d drag you out with me. I love you. Of course I will. I’m with you. I’m staying with you._

His lips collided with hers again, the setting sun setting the hues of red and gold of his room on fire. His fingers curled into her hair and cupped the back of her neck. Her eyes closed as he nibbled on her bottom lip gently, wrapping her arms around his neck. The lust was overshadowed by the pure, overwhelming emotion in her heart — happiness, contentment, hope. Something told her that he must have understood what she wasn’t able to tell him out loud yet.

They had to part because she couldn’t stop smiling.

 

 

 


	35. Caput XXXV: Breaking Forwards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot that I had this on here... 
> 
> Whoops. 
> 
> I fail. I'm sorry. Please forgive me? 
> 
> [s]I have 10 chapters written, revised, and edited that will be uploaded to here, so you won't have to wait too long between updates like EVERYONE ELSE DID.[/s]

_"Nothing happens until something moves." - Albert Einstein_

Capvt XXXV: Breaking Forwards

**Rome**

**EVERYONE** in the Roman Empire knew that Augustus Octavius Caesar was not a man to be reckoned with, especially when it came to his only son.

Not many people, however, realized that Perseus himself was a force just as volatile as his father when it came to Rome's best interests, or if someone he cared for was hurt in any way. If anything, he was even more determined when he became fixated on a path to the point where he became reckless.

So, of course, when those two great minds collided ...

* * *

 

Percy stared at his pater as his eyebrow slowly inched up the longer the silence went on. He took a deep breath and counted to _decem_ in his head to calm himself down.

"Pater," he drawled slowly to keep his voice steady, "be rational. We've been planning this alliance peace talk with Macedon for the past two years. To not send me on it just because of what happened in Tarentum is –" He bit his tongue on the word _irrational,_ because, gods forbid, his pater would be anything _but_ rational _._ "–illogical. Besides, I'll have a battalion of guards with me instead of just Jason. And Annabeth will be with me as well. And Reyna. I was far more exposed in Tarentum, and so I was caught off guard."

"And what if you are targeted by their king, Perseus? What if you are assassinated? What will happen to the Roman empire then?"

Percy struggled not to roll his eyes at his pater's words. He understood his worry, don't get him wrong, but it was _irrational_. He could be assassinated in Rome, or he could fall deathly ill and die. That was what being human is – You had to embrace your own mortality, or you'll never step out of the shadows of night and into the light of day.

His pater took his knight with gusto.

"You say that like I'm going to be blindly walking around. I'm very much aware the Greeks don't like Romans, pater. Annabeth made that clear when we first married."

"Your wife is an exception to the general rule."

He moved his bishop diagonally three spaces, realigning the next several moves – If he moved his rook like that and his queen like that and his knight and then he let his pater take his other bishop, he'd be able to checkmate him ...

"True. Annabeth is an exceptional woman. Back onto the topic at hand, however. I'm not staying in Rome without a solid reason, let alone out of _fear_. I can be assassinated any day – Reyna had to intercept fifteen assassination attempts in one week once. It's not just Macedon – I can be killed here, in my own homeland."

His pater nodded, but Percy wasn't sure if he was agreeing to what he said or if it was because he was thinking about how to point out the flaws in his argument.

"That is the greatest gift the gods gave onto us, the not knowing where we will be tomorrow." He moved his rook up, taking his pawn. Percy dismissed it; his pater liked to draw the game out as long as he possibly could. "There is a census later this year – You can be in charge of that for me. That's one of the few duties you haven't participated in, correct?"

Percy scowled at him, studying his pater who was smirking down at the chessboard. He'd just been _checked_ and he hadn't even seen it coming.

"I haven't. But the renewal of the alliance is important to the welfare of the empire."

"Not to worry, Perseus – I'll send an ambassador in your place."

He moved his queen several spaces up, taking his pater's knight – It was directly in the bishop's line now, but if his pater took her then he could checkmate him with his rook and knight ...

"The king of Macedon is expecting me to be there. He'll view it as an insult if you send someone else."

"That's why I'll send a general – He's the highest rank below us. Checkmate."

Percy stared at the chessboard as his pater leaned back with a satisfied smirk, icy eyes dancing with suppressed mirth. He groaned as he found his mistake – The bishops had locked his king when his pater had taken the pawn. He should have kept a better eye on his king.

"Will there ever be a day when I finally beat you?" He drawled, sweeping the pieces off the board to set them back up. "Never mind. I think you're making a mistake by not sending Annabeth and I to Macedon, but I understand your rational." _Not really, but I can't fight when you're sending general in our place._ His pater smiled.

"I knew you'd see it my way, Perseus."

Percy pushed the chair back, wincing as it grated against the marble floors, and nodded. "I have some reports from the east I need to review." He explained, veiling the request for a dismissal. He knew if he stayed behind much longer, he'd probably lose his temper.

His pater bobbed his head once and he stood too, clearly dismissing him.

* * *

_Scratch, scratch, scratch._

Percy gritted his teeth as he dragged his gaze away from his (too pretty for her own good) wife and tried to read the words written on the papyrus. Something about uprisings in Pontus and followers of Mithradites who were trying to resurrect the ways of Mithradites? Apparently it was slowly spiraling out of control and they needed help –

_Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch._

The way her fingers rippled gracefully was _so distracting_ somehow though, especially when he had to focus on these reports. (That were super boring at times, if he was going to be honest.) It was actually funny; he never realized how long and graceful her fingers really were. At first he was teaching her how to fight with a saber, and then she was learning how to read, so he had something else to pay attention to.

Now, she was completely on her own and didn't need any help from him (which made him smile). _So_ that made him able to stare at her as long as he wanted. Stare at her brown skin and her graceful fingers and her curly, blond hair and the way her gray eyes sparkled –

_Scratch, scratch, scratch, scratch –_

He groaned and slammed his head into the stack of papers, finally admitting to himself that there was no way he would get them done if he stayed here. Apparently, her hands were more interesting than the letter reporting uproar and mutiny and, and –

He raised his eyes. 

Wait. Was she _smirking_?

"Stop," he complained. Of course. Of course she knew. She always knew. It wasn't _fair._

"Stop what?" She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms under her chest and Percy's eyes dropped momentary to her bust before he snapped them back up at her face. Or her lips to be more specific.

_Stop acting like a hormonal teenager, dammit!_

The mischievous glint in her eyes told him she knew exactly what he was thinking. Before his brain caught up with his actions, he lunged for the orange that was sitting innocently by his knife and chucked it at her. She deftly caught it without taking her eyes off him, fingers curling around and digging into the thick peels.

 _Reflexes have definitely improved from all those months ago,_ he can't help but think.

"You _know_ what you're doing – Don't play the innocent act."

She grinned and peeled the skin off, exposing the soft fruit inside. He rolled his head back, chewing on a nail that was bothering him. Honestly, when had she gotten so . . . _seductive?_ It was getting increasingly harder to not –

"It's all in your head, Percy. I'm just translating Theseus' story."

He made a sound from the back of his throat and waved wildly at her. She laughed, high pitched and airy, and bit into the fruit. The juices dripped down her chin as she chewed.

He pulled the scrolls off the desk into his hands.

"That's it. Vale. I'm getting some work done."

She winked at him. He couldn't stop himself from pulling a face at her.

"I'll be in the library if someone panics." He said, walking over to kiss her on her cheek. He danced out of the way from her lips and grinned at her narrowed eyes. "No distractions, my lady. I really need to finish these reports."

A slow smile crept onto her face and into her eyes. "Maybe not now, but later ..."

He struggled with coming up with a reply for that for a moment, so he said, "I keep forgetting you're Greek."

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

He stuck his tongue out at her, feeling rather smug about the frustrated expression on her face, and closed the door behind him with a firm click.

* * *

_"I want to be a princess," Reyna says, and her loose hair blows over her bare shoulders. She blows on her dandelion. "What do you want?"_

_Percy shrugs, and he honestly thinks on it for a moment. But really, all that comes into his head is, "I want to be normal."_

_He blows on his dandelion. They watch the white specks dance in the wind and fall gently to the ground._

_"Maybe a merchant? Or a circus performer?" -_

"Percy."

Immediately, Percy's eyes snapped open at the sound of his name. Familiar brown eyes swam into his vision, but it took a few seconds for his half-asleep brain to recognize them consciously.

"Oh. It's just you."

He tore the papyrus off his cheek and stretched to get the blood moving. Reyna raised an eyebrow and sat down on the edge of the bench, shuffling the tomes in her arms down to her lap. Why did she have those anyway?

"I'd scold you for sleeping on the job but you look like you need it."

He rubbed his knuckles underneath his eyes to get the dust out of his eyelashes. "I can't believe I fell asleep," he muttered, and she chuckled.

"You were mumbling under your breath when I found you. Were you having another vision?"

He shook his head. "No. That was just a memory. I actually haven't had – Well, actually, I had a strange dream back when Jason and I were on the Via Appia."

She didn't reply, and a moment of stillness fell between them. He leaned into the sunlight and out of the shadows, allowing himself to enjoy it for a moment. It was warm today – That must have been why he'd fallen asleep. The guards must be in a blind panic by now, since she had been the one to wake him up.

"Err, does anyone know where I am, other than you? I didn't exactly tell the guard where I was going."

She studied him with that intense stare. "You realize the Caesar assigned them to you for a reason, right?"

"Yes. But I was going insane. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"You never do." He tried to hide his smile. Reyna sobered. "Medicus Gaius wants to see you – Something about an epidemic? He already spoke to the Caesar and the Caesar told him to have you look into it."

The smile slipped off his face. "An epidemic? That's not good." He pushed the paperwork off his lap, but didn't move otherwise. There was no point when she was blocking the way.

"No, it's not." She paused for a moment, then tilted her head. "You're not supposed to be walking alone."

"Rey, I'm _in the palace,_ " he groaned. "I'm sure if an assassin tries to assassinate me, I'll be able to hold them off for a _little while._ " She stood, armor clanking with her movements, and he crawled out from the nook he had hidden himself in.

"I'm just following orders. At least it's me and not someone who stutters every time you speak to him." She smiled wryly, and he rolled his eyes.

"Haha. Very funny. I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe. Does that count as an assassination attempt?"

She punched him in the shoulder, and he wobbled on one leg before he caught his balance again.

"Be serious, Perseus."

"Yes, _mater._ " She shot him the stink-eye. He sobered – Because now really wasn't the time to be teasing her even though she made it so _easy_ sometimes. There were more important things he had to focus on. "Okay, I'm serious now. Is it bad that I'm hoping his judgment is wrong when he's the head of the medical field?"

She hummed, and he knew that she was thinking. Her armor clanked as she began to walk. He widened his stride to keep up with her, cradling the reports from the garrison towns in the outer villages in his arms.

"No, I don't think it's bad. I'm hoping he's wrong too – Nobody wants an epidemic running through where they live, especially not one as bad as this apparently is. I tried to get more information from him, but he was pretty tight lipped about it and I didn't want to push."

"So, you're just going to tag along with me then."

She grinned at him. "That's exactly what I'm going to do. You're the Heir Apparent – He has to tell you what he knows, and if the Heir Apparent doesn't dismiss the praetor, then she can stay in the room and listen to ... confidential details."

"You're making that up."

"Am I?"

He paused, considered her for a moment, and then he decided to not push it. She wasn't someone who went against the rules. Maybe bend them as far as they would possibly go, but she definitely didn't break them.

"All right, fine. What did you manage to get out of him?"

She shuffled the tomes. "Not much, actually – Which I thought was strange since he's usually willing to tell me everything he knows." _Thanks to the fact that we're practically siblings, just from different birth mothers._ He can hear the untold part in her voice. He nodded to show his understanding. "I was with Annabeth when one of the guards came up to tell me that Medicus Gaius wanted to see me. I'm not sure why but she said to tell you that "Being Greek has nothing to do with it?""

He heard the question in her voice and he smiled wryly. "It's nothing – I just said something to get under her skin." A heartbeat passed and she looked at him with a speculative gleam in her eyes. He realized how he just worded that and his cheeks suddenly warmed. "Wait. That didn't come right, I meant –"

"There's nothing wrong with –"

"Reyna!" he groaned.

She threw her head back and laughed. He marched forward as she cackled, determinedly ignoring her as they walked into a more crowded corridor. She sped up, shuffling the tomes.

"I wasn't going to make any innuendoes. It's perfectly natural – "

He glared at her. She coughed, though the smile on her face told him she was more amused by the topic of their conversation than she should be. _How can she be so straight faced when she's grilling me about my love life?! I can remember Rachel teasing her and her blushing very clear—_

He knocked on the door to the physician's chambers and entered, calling out "Medicus Gaius?" to the physician. The door closed with a click behind them, and she put her tomes down on one of the tables.

"Ah, Lord Perseus." The ancient man walked in, his silver hair looking rather oilier than usual. Gaius narrowed his eyes at Reyna, who stared back at him mutely, but Percy could see the way her body posture shifted slightly, as if she were preparing to fight the physician tooth and nail. He shook his head.

"Bah, I know you'll tell her anyway. She should know about this anyway." He muttered something about men and how a woman shouldn't serve as a praetor. Percy bit back the urge to speak up for her – He couldn't show favoritism, and besides, Reyna could take care of herself.

Reyna said nothing.

 _Odd,_ he thought, but didn't comment on it – At least, not for now. Maybe later when Gaius wouldn't overhear him.

"What is it?" He asked when Gaius sat down on the chair. His own fingers twitched by his side– A nervous habit. "It's not often you request me, so I have no choice but to assume something has happened."

Gaius exhaled through his nose heavily, wearily – As if he was tired with the world – and he pressed his fingertips together. Percy traded a glance with Reyna. _Why is he so reluctant to speak?_ He wondered, more than a little nervous. He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"I spoke to the Caesar, and he told me that you should be the one involved."

Percy nodded slowly. "What should I know?" He asked slowly, wishing he could just make him spit it out – But he was nicer than Reyna was, and Gaius had been taking care of him since he was a child. The old physician deserved some respect even though he didn't agree with him most of the time; he dealt with his misadventures with Jason after all. And dealt with his and Rachel's screaming matches.

Percy leaned forward. "I can't do anything if I don't know what it is."

He studied him, and Percy waited. Gaius stood and walked over to a pot, pouring a cup of tea for himself, back turned to them.

"I've examined ten cases in the last seven days. Aches, vomiting, high fevers, clammy skin, diarrhea and coughing. The first cases came in with stomach aches, coughs and a mild fever; they develop overnight into vomiting and clammy skin. One of the patients will not see the tomorrow's daybreak."

The only clear thought that ran through his mind was: _Oh, no._ He'd heard of cases like these – No wonder Reyna had called it an epidemic. If it was anything like the one that spread during the Civil Wars, or the Athenian one . . .

Percy clenched his fist so tight the knuckles turned white. There was no water in his mouth suddenly.

He finally understood what Gaius was implying – Why he was so reluctant to speak. If those symptoms continued to spread to other citizens, then that would mean that this illness would fester and continue to spread until it became a plague. And if there was a plague, then there would be a panic, and when there was panic there would be uproar and mobs ...

And ten people had already been effected by this disease. It wouldn't be long until Rome caught on, and when that happened, there would be no stopping the uproar. Rome was already in stasis what with everything that went on with his grandfather and the Gracchi brothers and the collapse of the Republic . . . If there was a plague then any semblance of stability they had managed to regain . . .

 _And pater wants me to be in charge of_ this _?! Is he out of his mind? I'm not ready, I can't –_

His hands shook and he knew that he was beginning to panic – if the short gasps where anything to go back. He shut his eyes and breathed through his nose, exhaling through his mouth slowly. Once, twice, thrice.

It didn't matter if he was ready or not – Gaius was looking to him for guidance right now, and he'd have to offer what little he had.

"Right," he breathed out, opening his eyes. He avoided Reyna's eyes – _knew, she always knew, she would always know and there is nothing he could do – she was too observant for his comfort but he supposed that that was a good thing most of the time –_ and fixed his gaze on Gaius' back. "Okay. What have you done so far?"

The basics. He needed the basics before he could think of a plan of action. The basics were good.

"Treated the ill as best as I am able. I've had some of the nurses begin to research into this illness, but I've never seen anything like it in all my years. If it were a plague or an epidemic . . . but this is strange, because we're not in the middle of a war and it's been a fairly good year in terms of health."

Percy nodded. "I'm going to add to your team then. Until we know what this disease is ..."

"There is nothing we can do to combat it." Gaius turned around, locking his pale yellow eyes with Percy. "Not until we know for sure what we are dealing with."

He licked his lips. "I wish there was more that we – "

The door flew open with a bang, interrupting him. Percy leapt up, his hand flying to his sword as a head full of wild, choppy brown hair rushed into the room. He recognized Piper a few heartbeats before she crashed into him. He nearly toppled over, but he managed to grab onto her shoulder to catch his balance again.

"P-Piper?!" Reyna sounded as stunned as he felt as he held onto her shoulder, trying to figure out if he should have her sit down before she had a full blown panic attack or if he should scold her for nearly giving them a heart attack. Piper looked up at him with wide, glossy eyes.

"What's wrong?" he heard himself ask. She shook her head.

"M-my l-lor- P-Percy – It's Annabeth, s-she there was blood _everywhere_ and I didn't know what to do and the g-guards c-came in when I scr-screamed and told me t-to go tell G-Gaius t-that – " She started sobbing into her hands, and he stared at her.

"Annabeth?" He repeated, trying to understand. His thoughts whirled in circles of _Annabeth_ and _blood_ and _blood?_ The swooping feeling in his gut wasn't a good one, and he couldn't help but compare it to the feeling he had the night Rachel was murdered.

"Piper, what ...?" He took her arms, "What happened to Annabeth?"

She shook her head, wild curls whipping across her face. "I don't know – I just – "

He heard footsteps and then several of his guards came in. Tiberius was supporting a small, lithe body between him and another guard, supporting her gently –

Blood stained the lower part of her toga red, her brown skin nearly white. Percy grabbed Piper's shoulder automatically when his body suddenly felt like it was crashing to the ground and his head spun and – oh, gods. That was _Annabeth._ Why was Annabeth –

And then there was another person leaping to the forefront of his head – A girl with red hair whose pale arm was stretched out, as if she was reaching for something. The blood stained her marble skin and the white folds of her toga crimson.

The hole in Rachel's chest . . .

"Meg!" Gaius roared, leaping to his feet as he gestured for the guards to follow him. Percy shook his head weakly to clear it of the memories as he was pushed back against the wall with Piper. He didn't understand – Why was Annabeth _here_ covered in _blood_ when she'd been in their room writing all this time? And after that, she'd been out walking with the ladies of the court apparently.

_Did someone try to assassinate her?_

A chill gripped his heart, but before he could go up and demand answers, Reyna materialized by his side. He felt her hand gently taking him by his elbow (and Piper too, probably, but Percy couldn't think – He was staring at Annabeth because seriously, _what?_ ) as she said softly, "Come on. Let's sit outside so that we're not in the way."

Percy shook his head weakly even as they were led outside, anchoring himself to her voice despite the ringing sound in his ears. "I don't understand," he said, his mind not catching up with what was going on. _Why is Annabeth . . .? Why is she in there? Why is she covered in her own blood?_

"She was teasing me just a few hours ago." He heard his voice tell them. It sounded like it was coming from underwater. "I was . . ." But he didn't know what he was going to do later.

"It's going to be okay, Percy," he heard Reyna say.


	36. Caput XXXVI: All Fall Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Some content may be considered disturbing to some readers. Please don't read if you're triggered by discussion of miscarriage.**

_"Doubt thou the stars are fire;_  
_Doubt that the sun doth move;_  
_Doubt truth to be a liar;  
_ _But never doubt I love ."_

\- William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

Caput XXXVI: All Fall Down

* * *

**SOME**  time after the clicked shut behind him, Annabeth switched from copying Cicero to translating the story of Theseus from Greek into Latin. Her chalk scratched against the board as she translated . . . about how he went and slayed the minotaur but his father killed himself when he saw that flag that indicated that  _Theseus_ was dead. It was sad how a small mistake like that could end a man's life. Carelessness and haste, that was what ended his life . . .

Her hand was shaking.

She tilted her head and stared at the way the chalk brushed against the slate, smudging the carefully written letters to the point that they were almost unreadable.  _Why is my hand shaking like this?_ Because she wasn't clutching the chalk tightly – In fact, it rolled out of her fingers and clattered against the ground.

The slate began to slip off her lap and she put it back on top of the counter. Even that was a struggle – Her hands slipped once or twice and nearly knocked her glass of water off.

She needed air. Fresh air. There was no way she would finish translating – She couldn't concentrate like this. Though air . . . air could clear her head, and then she could come back to translating it later-

When she stood, her head spun and she grasped her hand against the table to steady herself. To keep herself from toppling over. Something . . . something may be wrong after all. She shouldn't be this dizzy. Her eyes closed tight. The humid air made her hair stick to the skin on the back of her neck and she breathed through her nose, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

It took longer than it should have, longer than she expected.

It was hot in here, and it was stuffy. Or was that just her? She should get outside – walk a little. That should clear up this bout of illness quickly enough. There was no use in worrying anyone over her after all – It was probably just some stomach bug at the worst.

Or just a bout of dizziness, of course.

She slipped her feet into her sandals (she could still remember Percy's sarcastic comment about not wearing shoes when they first met quite clearly – There was no need to give him a reason to be smug that he had been right) and walked across the room.

The guard at the door looked at her in concern as she stepped outside. She couldn't remember his name for some reason—Which was strange because she usually took care to remember their names. Either he had recently risen through the ranks into the Praetorian Guard or . . .

Or what?

Or her memory wasn't there completely. Which meant her mind was working slower than usual –

That rational shouldn't make sense. Maybe something  _was_ wrong with her . . .

"With all due respect," he began and she knew that he was probably going to say something most nobility would consider insulting, "are you feeling all right, Lady Annabeth? You look a little pale."

A smile curved reflexively on her lips as she nodded. Huh. She hadn't even realized that was a habit at this point . . . Maybe dealing with the patricians was changing her habits?

What was going  _on_ with her thoughts?

"I'm well. I'm just going for a short walk to get some fresh air before going back in."

The guard still looked unsure, and a little worried, and she realized that he might not be the average guard who just listened to what she or Percy said.

Mostly what Percy said.

He wasn't as mindless as most of the guards who just followed commands – He wasn't a dog like most of them. He was intelligent. He could think for himself. But she didn't think he was malicious like the guard who had –

She realized by the slightly raised eyebrow (that was going steadily higher the longer time ticked on) that she hadn't answered.

"I'm not going far. I'll be fine."

The guard was wringing his hands together. It was odd to have such an expressive guard – Let alone one that challenged her. Maybe he would be a good conversationalist?

Maybe her head wasn't screwed on straight anymore?

"The Caesar said that you and the Heir Apparent need to have tightened security, m'lady." There it was – A drawl. It was similar to Praetor Jason's –

"Don't worry Frank. I'll escort Lady Annabeth where she wishes to go."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Ja—Praetor. Praetor Jason!" The guard – Frank, she knew his name now, and it did ring a bell for some reason – tripped over the greeting and saluted smartly.

"At ease," Jason told Frank with a wry smile. She noticed the slight change in his accent – Something less "aristocratic" and more "common" and she thought that they might know each other. It explained both Frank's odd uneasiness and familiarity mixed together. It also explained why Jason would greet him by his given name rather than by his rank. He looked at her and his head slowly tilted to one side. "You look a little pale, Annabeth. Are you feeling well?"

She almost rolled her eyes. Would have if Frank the Guard wasn't there too.

"I'm fine," she snapped, not quite able to regulate her tone. "It's just a little stuffy in there and I wanted some fresh air."

Something in his eyes told her he didn't quite believe her, but he nodded in acceptance.

"I'm guessing Percy isn't in there…?"

She shook her head. Her head spun even at the slight motion.

Don't move head. Okay then.

"No, he left a while ago to focus on reports. How come?"

He looked at Frank and she realized he didn't want the guard to overhear. She started walking down the hall, and he followed, a half step behind her. Her head wasn't spinning quite as badly as before, which meant that the dizzy spell must be passing – She was becoming a little nauseous for some reason though.

Maybe there was something wrong with her.

"Reyna, I, and a few of the other praetors have been looking for him. According to Gaius, there's been a bout of widespread illness that the Caesar thinks he should be aware of. I don't know any more than that – He told us nothing else."

Widespread illness?

"That's . . . not good."

He snorted. "Way to state the obvious, little miss."

She shrugged. It was the only response she could think of to that, and she felt like that information warranted a response.

There was a pause long enough that it became stilted. Annabeth searched around in her mind for something to say, but she came up with nothing. She didn't really know much about Jason other than he was incredibly loyal to Percy (even more so to him than to the Caesar – She somehow got the feeling he didn't like Octavius too much), he was engaged to Reyna (she wasn't sure why they weren't married yet), and he was a plebeian, not a patrician.

He was surprisingly quiet for being so nice in general. Then again, she wouldn't expect a praetor to be plebeian – From her understanding, Rome hadn't worked that way in a while.

"So, are you going to tell me the real reason why you decided that you had to go on a walk, because 'stuffy' would be the last word I would think of using to describe your chambers."

She wouldn't expect a praetor to be so blunt either. She looked at him.

"I can see what Percy means now. Your eyes really like they have storm clouds in them." He rolled his eyes, and she got the feeling that he rolled his eyes at a lot of things Percy said. She knew she did at least. "You look really pale."

She hesitated, considering what to tell him . . . Definitely no lies. "I was a little dizzy earlier, but I'm fine now. I just needed some fresh air."

He still looked skeptical.

"Annabeth?" She heard Piper say, and she came around the corner, shifting laundry from one hip to another – "Who are you talking . . ." She looked up "-to?"

For a moment, Piper stared at Jason, her mouth hanging open slightly. Annabeth blinked at the startled look in her eyes—She hadn't  _ever_ seen Piper look so . . . She didn't even know how to explain the emotion she saw in her eye with a word. She looked a little unhinged. And shocked. And hurt. Maybe a little angry too?

She looked guilty too.

Why would she look at Jason like that?

"Uh . . ." She yanked her gaze off Jason, and she finally registered that he had gone rigid. Why was he so tense?

What in the  _world_ -?

"Right. Uh. I'm just . . . going to go . . ." She gestured toward the laundry with one hand weakly. She looked frazzled. And out of sorts. Jason wasn't helping either. She glanced Jason before looking back at Annabeth. "Um. Right. Vale…te?"

Why did that come out as a question?

"Are you feeling all right?" Annabeth asked slowly, stopping Piper from edging around her. "You seem … distracted. And tense."

Jason snorted.

Piper glared at him. "Do you have something to say, praetor?"

Annabeth stared at her. She'd  _never,_ in all her life, seen Piper speak with such a bitter tone to someone, especially someone who she didn't even really know.

She hadn't really even heard Piper to speak to someone so bluntly either, even though she'd tried to convince her to speak to her like that. She'd given it up as a lost cause long ago . . .

And now she was addressing Jason like this? Someone wasn't adding up.

"Oh, no. Nothing at all." He said seriously. "I was thinking something. I apologize for interrupting you, miss."

Tension. The air was so thick with tension that it felt like glass. If she cut through it with a knife or her saber, she felt like she could shatter it.

And it was coming from these two people.

She didn't know why they would be so . . . There was something between them that felt like it could click, but wouldn't, so it disrupted the air between them. She felt like there was a storm brewing from the alps, and it was rapidly coming for Rome.

All she could think was that they hated each other, with the way Piper was not quite glaring (which was her version of glaring daggers, really) and Jason was showing so many emotions, showing that he was so clearly upset, even though he seemed to be very even tempered-

The ground shifted under her feet. Up became down and down became up.

They were saying something – Piper was talking to Jason, voice tense, but Annabeth couldn't be sure what it was. Something about Reyna? And now something about escorting her somewhere? She tried to breathe, thinking that it might pass – Maybe she'd been unconsciously holding her breath? But no – Her vision was tunneling and the edges were tinted dark.

She stumbled forward, crashing against something. The wall, maybe? It was hard. Piper shouted in surprise.

"Annabeth?!"

"I may have underestimated how dizzy I was," she muttered, looking clearly, looking at Jason. He was staring at her with wide eyes before he crossed the room and knelt in front of her. Funny. She hadn't even realized her knees hadn't been able to hold her weight and she'd sank to the floor. That explained why there were hurting.

Her vision was spinning and she closed her eyes, trying to block out the light. That didn't even help – It only made her feel worse, actually.

She tasted something salty and warm in her mouth – Something like iron, maybe?

Blood.

Her eyes flew open as she began to cough. The coughs were deep and they came from her chest, and she folded over. She clapped her hand to her mouth as her gag reflex triggered and – Iron. More iron. More salt.

Her hand shook as she dropped her gaze to stare at her hand.

It was coated with a shiny, red substance.

"Oh, my gods." She heard herself say. The world kept spinning and she stared at that hand. "Uh . . ." She held her hand out and she heard someone curse. Probably Jason.

The world swayed again. That was definitely not normal. Her vision shouldn't be blurring either – That wasn't normal either.

Something was really, really wrong with her.

Oh, why was she so  _stubborn?_

"I may have understated how dizzy I was earlier," she muttered, blinking the light. She managed to catch Piper's gaze – Her eyes were purple today. What an odd moment to notice such an odd detail.

Her vision spun, the dark edges closing in, and that was the last thing she saw.

* * *

Her dreams were chaotic and confusing. At least, she thought they were dreams.

She saw her stepmother, Helen, waving at her as she stepped onto the ship that took her away from Athens and toward Rome. She remembered that Helen had been sad to see her go, but had wished her luck – She'd said that hopefully, Rome would give her more than Athens ever could.

Funnily enough, it had. She hadn't believed her back then.

One day, she'd have to thank her.

Mountains were jutting into the deep blue sky, a direct contrast of gray slate against cloudless blue. They seemed to stretch endlessly on and on, with no end in sight. Green hills rolled gently over rich, fertile planes. The sea crashed against the bedrock of the mountain range with an angry roar. The spray leapt so high she thought that it could touch the heavens, as if Poseidon could enter Zeus' realm, drenching everything in sight. The spray was weight. The waves had white caps.

There was fire in the dark red sky, blazing a trail across it, cutting it in half. It almost looked like a star had fallen out of the heavens and was now touching earth, trying to burn it to the ground. But the earth wouldn't burn.

Perhaps it was lighting up the dark night?

Then her vision went out and she saw nothing as she sank further into the heavy, sticky darkness.

She thought she heard someone laughing at her.

* * *

Percy had even stopped fidgeting.

He wasn't quite sure how long it had been since Annabeth had been taken into those doors: Long enough that his frantic pacing had become finger twitching and foot jiggling. And long enough that eventually, he even stopped twitching. He was glad Jason was here to keep him sane, but he still wished –

He exhaled, allowing his head to thump back against the wall. Jason shifted against him, and he realized that he must have woken up or was waking up again. Apparently, his boney shoulder was comfortable enough to fall asleep against, if the snoring by his ear had been anything to go by.

It was hard staying still. Eventually, he'd started to fiddle with the coin that Jason's spear turned into, though he was pretty sure the blond would be . . . unhappy with him later when he found out, to say the least.

In his defense, the coin had fallen out of his pocket and clattered against the floor. How was Percy  _not_ supposed to play with it when he was already antsy and it was shiny and more interesting than the grains in the wood?

He looked up, doubling checking the doors. They were still closed.

Waiting. Still waiting. Now he understood how Annabeth felt like when he'd been ill in Tarentum – The waiting was horrible. And she'd thought he'd died. He was glad he wasn't dead. He just hoped she wasn't –

_Stop. Don't jinx it. With your luck…_

"She's going to be okay," Jason mumbled, sounding half asleep. His words echoed Reyna's, and he wished he knew where she'd gone too. She'd said something about informing his pater earlier, but she hadn't come back.

Gods, he hated waiting. He honestly  _hated_ it.

Jason sat up and shook his head, probably to clear the cotton webs from his brain. He stretched with a yawn, and Percy head several small pops coming from his bones. He rolled his head.

"Sorry for falling asleep on you." He still sounded like he was asleep. Or, at least, his brain wasn't fully awake yet. He must have been exhausted – The sun had set and the moon had fully brightened quite some time ago.

Percy almost wished he could fall asleep too, but he felt way too awake to even attempt to sleep. He was tired – Bone tired, really. But he just . . . He couldn't even  _fathom_ the idea of sleeping. Not until he got news of her –

Of her –

"If she wasn't going to be okay, someone would have come out and told you by now, I'm sure." Jason must have been reading his mind. Again. He stretched his long legs easily, and Percy wondered how he could appear so casual and yet so formidable at the same time. "Besides, she's a fighter. I doubt she'd let herself die without a fight."

His stomach felt unsettled and he pulled his legs up to his chest, as if that would keep the gnawing of worry out of his chest. He rested his chin on top of his knees, nibbling on the inside of his cheek. It was a much more comfortable position than having Jason's head pressed against his shoulder as his hair tickled his neck. That wasn't fun.

Why does he sleep on people all the time anyway?

It was the waiting that was driving him insane. He just – He  _hated_ not knowing what was happening. It was a strange feeling, since usually he was one of the first who was told. At least, he was now that he was an adult. Frustration had been very prevalent when he was a child and no one told him anything.

Really, that was why he got into as much trouble as he had. Probably.

He wanted to scream.

He really,  _really_ wanted to scream. Probably at Zeus. Yes, he'd like to scream at Zeus. Of course, that would be a bad idea but he could  _fantasize_ about it, couldn't he?

"I just wish I knew what was going on," he admitted quietly. He also hated feeling  _vulnerable._

That was what he was feeling – He was feeling vulnerable too. And worried. Very worried. He just wanted to open those doors and command them to tell him what in Tartarus was going –

Frustration and bitterness made his voice sharp as he added, "I  _hate_ being out of control."

"We all do." Jason threaded his fingers together and placed them behind the back of his head. Percy rolled his eyes. "We normal people just get better at dealing with it."

He smiled. A little.

Jason sighed. "I wonder how much of our lives we really have a say in," he said, and there was melancholy in his voice. The change in his tone was worrisome. "The gods expect their heroes to die for them. The Fates play with the lives of us mere mortal men. It just makes me wonder how free we are, or if we are slaves to the Olympians and their meddling, but don't even know it."

"That's cheerful," he deadpanned. He thumped his head back against the wall. His eyes watered at his head throbbed mildly, and he pinched the bright of his nose, right between his eyes, to negate it out. At least a little.

He snorted. "I know. This is why you're the one who's going to be king and I'm not."

"Caesar."

"Same thing," he rolled his hand dismissively, and Percy shook his head. If anyone overheard them talking, they'd probably consider it treason and have them arrested, despite their ranks. He pulled his head up when the throbbing in his neck got to be a little too much.

There was a moment of silence between them, and then he said, "You know what I mean."

Jason sighed. "I do," he said seriously. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you . . ."

He looked at him. His eyes were closed. "What is it?" he asked. Usually, he just told him what he thought outright without thinking about it. If he'd been meaning to tell him something, then it was serious.

Except he usually told him something if it was serious the moment he saw it was serious.

He was a brilliant friend, but a terrible politician.

"Never mind," he sighed. Percy moved so that he was sitting sideways on the bench, and he poked him in his arm. Jason open one eyelid and squinted at him.

"Come on, tell me. You got me curious."

He saw him hesitating, before he clasped his hands together in his lap and opened his eyes. "Arrogance doesn't really become you, Percy."

Percy slowly blinked and his head fell to his side. "Huh?" he asked eloquently.

Jason bit his lip. "It's just something I noticed in Tarentum. The way you spoke to Malcolm occasionally, or Demetria and Darius sometimes, it was almost like they were less than you . . . Just hints here and there. You might want to keep an eye on that, since most of the heroes die because their egos become larger than their rationality."

He  _harrumphed_ and plopped his chin on his knees. He hadn't noticed that. That was bad. He should have known better . . . Of all the things to start developing, an  _ego_ was one of them? Not that he was doubting Jason, of course. He trusted his judgment more than his own. If he said something, he believed him.

Jason nudged him. "Don't worry. I'll stab you in the back if you go completely bonkers. That's what I'm here for."

He chuckled, even though there was nothing remotely funny about it. His sense of humor was strange – Quite dark, really. But always had a ring of truth in it.

"I know," he said wryly. "Let us hope that it doesn't come to that though."

Jason shrugged. "Reyna would probably kill both of us and then she'd haunt us in the underworld as our eternal punishment."

"True," he agreed wryly. They fell silent again for a little –

"She looked pretty bad earlier though." Jason said softly. "I feel like I failed in protecting her somehow. I feel like I've been failing a lot in protecting both of you lately."

He shook his head and nudged him with his shoulder. Jason didn't look at him in the eye or even smile a little, and Percy sighed.

"It's just bad luck, Jason. Don't blame yourself for that."

The doors opened and Percy was instantly on his feet as Gaius walked out into the open, shoulders hunched over. He looked even older than he did already, and the graveness etched in his face made his heart feel like it had plummeted from his chest down to his feet.

_Not her. Not her too. Please not her, please don't take her away too, please –_

"Annabeth's condition is stable, for now at least."

Percy felt like his muscles had coiled and ready for combat (they probably have been), and now they instantly loosened from their tense state. His knees shook. His eyes burned like knives for a split second before he closed them, breathing in to calm himself, and exhaling slowly through his nose.

She's okay.

So why would Gaius still look so worried?

He stared at the medicus, who placed a hand on his elbow and pulled him back down onto the bench he'd been sitting on. He directed a pointed look at Jason, who scrambled away.

Percy studied him, trying to figure out what he was going to say next. He had no idea. He was hoping it wasn't bad.

"There were . . . some complications though."

Percy frowned, and now dread was building in the pit of his stomach for an entirely different reason. "Gaius?" he said softly. "What do you mean?"

"All the signs – the blood loss, the lack of development . . . it points to one thing only. I was confused about why she wasn't showing by now, but now I understand . . . I'm sorry, Percy. She miscarried."

He blinked. Once, twice, thrice.  _Miscarried? But the only reason he would use that term is if a woman lost her child . . . but . . ._

The world swayed and he grabbed the back of the bench to hold himself upright in the storm. He didn't understand. Why would she be . . . But . . . They hadn't . . . It should be impossible. But Gaius was a competent physician; he'd know the signs. Unless he had made a misdiagnosis. But he didn't understand. Why would Annabeth . . . ? But . . .

Gaius had continued on, something about how the child hadn't been growing right, which was why she hadn't begun to show. Except they had no child. That was a misconception of his pater. They hadn't even had  _sex_ yet – Why would they—Why would she have a child?

_Why would she miscarry if she didn't have a child?_

Was Gaius wrong? But no – Not only was he a renowned physician, miscarriage was often enough that even people who weren't medici would be able to tell the symptoms. So that meant the only option left . . .

But no, she  _wouldn't._

Would she?

This was insane. He'd gone mad. The  _world_ has gone mad.

His breathing picked up. He was probably going to hyperventilate if he didn't stop himself from panicking. He probably was panicking. He couldn't even shut down his emotions like he normally did—He could barely understand what they were. Annabeth made him unable to understand a lot of things, really. She also made him upset over a lot of things. But this definitely took the cake.

But he couldn't – He didn't  _understand._ Why would she . . . He needed  _answers._

He couldn't sit here. He had to see her.

He interrupted Gaius' still on-going rant about . . . He didn't even know what he was talking about anymore. "May I –" His voice cracked. "May I see her?"

He hesitated. "You shouldn't."

" _Please_."

Gaius studied him for a moment before he nodded slowly, reluctantly. "Don't disturb her. She's resting."

As if he was in a trance, Percy stood and walked toward her room, ignoring the bustle of the infirmary. He thought one of the nurses said something to him, but he couldn't be sure and he just . . .

He turned the doorknob toward her door and swung it open slowly. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, adjusting to the dim lighting.

She was so pale. She shouldn't be that pale.

Percy honestly felt like he was going to be sick. He nearly crashed against the wall as walked over to her bedside. He hadn't even seen it – He'd been focused on her face. She could be merely sleeping for all he knew. She probably was.

Figures, even in sleep she was causing him anxiety. She was terrible for his health. Why had they agreed to this again anyway?

What was "this" anyway?

He shuddered and knelt next to her bed. More like he crashed against the ground and barely caught himself. At least, it felt like that to him.

He didn't know what to do.

There should be no reason . . . He'd almost forgotten that she was even  _supposed_ to be pregnant in the first place. What if she really had been pregnant – But then, why . . . ? She wouldn't have hidden it. Unless that was why she wanted . . . ? When he came back?

Was he just jumping to conclusions?

He wished she was awake. There had to be an explanation for this. All of this. Somehow. There had to be a logical reason – Maybe? But what other logical reason was there than that she had to have had sex with someone to be able to have miscarried a child, since Gaius rarely misdiagnosed something, and since it certainly was not with  _him-!_

That's it. He was hysterical. Or, at least, becoming hysterical. He couldn't seem to get a grip on himself – The last time he'd been this upset was when Rachel had died and Annabeth  _was not dead._

But, gods, what if she really had been pregnant?

What if they had had –

Then she could have really lost their child today. If she hadn't already. But it wouldn't be "their," it would be just . . . hers.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the side of her bed. Something cool trickled down his cheek and hit his palm.

A tear.

Why was he crying?

Gods, was his grip on his emotions really this terrible? The hint of something happening and he completely  _loses it?_ The future Caesar shouldn't be acting this way, he had to be – He had –

A sob ripped its way out of his throat without his permission, even though he didn't know why or even what it was for.  _He_  certainly hadn't lost a child. She wasn't dead. So why would he be crying?

Out of relief, maybe?

Or was it sorrow?

Or even fear?

Why did she even affect him like this? He'd never – The only time he felt this way, but even then . . . She brought his emotions out in a way that was stronger than he'd ever felt before.

He almost laughed. Of course he'd be crying over this. Dear gods, it was  _Annabeth._ Just that alone would make him illogical.

Would—Would—

He didn't even know what he was thinking anymore. He was definitely past hysterical at this point. Gods, he hoped nobody came in and saw him like this.

She'd probably have an explanation for this when she woke up.

There was no reason why he should dwell on this.

Still, he wept.


	37. Caput XXXVII: A Resolution of Sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Menstruating mention (like seriously, if I can write it then I'm pretty sure you can handle reading it – It's only a line). Sexy times ahead. Don't act like myself at twelve and read responsibly. I'm serious guys. Be responsible, please. Some of the things I'm writing about in this chapter disturbs me myself.

_"I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in darkness the astonishing light of your own being."_  – Hafiz of Persia

Caput XXXVII: A Resolution of Sorts

* * *

 

 **ANNABETH**  woke slowly.

The first thing that caught her attention when she eventually opened her eyes was the white – A sheer, stark white. There was no yellow to offset it, or any other color, really. Instantly, she closed her eyes again – The white made them ache too much.

The next thing she noticed was the smell of disinfectant that didn't entirely hide the smell of death and decay. The platform she laid on wasn't comfortable – It was hard – and she didn't feel Percy's body heat near or pressed against her, trapping her within it like the cuddler she had come to realize he was.

Her back was aching from whatever she was resting on. She felt sticky. She groaned under her breath and forced her eyes to open for the second time, wanting to know more about where she was. And she couldn't do that if she was sleeping. (Her eyes were very sore too, now that she thought about it.)

It only took a few heartbeats for her to recognize the brown floorboards and the wooden tables that served as bed.  _Why am I in the infirmary?_ She sat up, and looked down at herself. She saw no visible wounds –

_Wait. I didn't put this on earlier...?_

"You're awake!" The sudden new voice startled her – it was silly to have thought she was the only one awake now, wasn't it? This was a sickbay after all – and she jerked her head up. She recognized that nurse, the one who had talked to her the night Percy had been flogged all those months ago. She'd been very warm back then . . . and her name was Meg? Meg smiled at her gently before she turned to the cupboards and placed the blankets in her arms in them.

For a moment, she didn't know if she should say something or if she should stay quiet. But there was a question burning at her, demanding her to ask it, and she was never able to learn when to  _not_ ask questions. But she waited a bit, to see if Meg would volunteer any information.

Meg was busy swiping the counters down, avoiding her eyes.

Something was wrong.

"Uh . . . is there any reason why I'm here? The last thing I remember is..."  _Walking with Piper and Jason? I'd felt dizzy and . . . and then something went wrong._

Meg wasn't smiling anymore. Her gaze fell to the ground. She chewed on her fingernail before she sat on the edge of the table. Annabeth curled her legs up to her chest to give her more room, but she did nothing.

"There is a reason," she said eventually, and continued no further. It looked like she was going to have to drag the truth out of her.

"And that reason is?" she asked slowly, tilting her head to the side. It had to be bad, if she didn't want to talk about it. But what could it possibly be? Were the late hours she spent training catching up to her? Had she caught a virus?  _What was it?_

"I'm sorry."

Alarm bells began to go off in her head. She swallowed. "Meg," (she hoped that was her name) "There's nothing you should be sorry for."

Meg still wasn't looking at her. "You lost your child."

She froze. "Oh."

Automatically, her hand fell to her very flat stomach.  _What?_ But she... She wouldn't even  _be_ pregnant in the first place. That was just something Octavius Caesar had... But of course they wouldn't know. They had gone along with it. There was no reason why they wouldn't think she was pregnant.  _With everything that had happened, I'd forgotten that I'm supposed to be with child . . ._

Meg was watching her with hawk like eyes, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She was so confused. It was impossible for her to be pregnant. She was surprised that nobody had outed them yet— But wait . . . They would have told Percy. He'd be the first one to know . . .

"Percy," she breathed.  _Oh, no..._ "Does he know?"

Meg nodded slowly. "I don't think he knew how to process it. He came in and sat next to you yesterday evening, and then he left. Nobody's seen him since."

_Oh, no no no. He must think I..._

She felt sick to her stomach.  _I have to explain. Or try to, at least. I have no proof but..._ She shook her head. Her thoughts felt discombobulated. She couldn't help but feel a little relieved that she  _hadn't_ lost a child. If she had... She wasn't sure what she'd have done. Just the  _idea_ of losing a baby was enough to terrify her now – How much worse would she feel if she really  _had_ been pregnant?

Something told her she probably would have been inconsolable.

"Can I leave?" her voice cracked. That was perfectly reasonable. She wanted to see Percy and . . . She didn't know what. She probably wasn't thinking straight. "Please, I can't..."  _I can't stay here._

Meg hesitated. "Gaius wanted to observe you overnight."

"He can check up on me in the morning," she argued. The infirmary felt like it was closing in on her, trapping her within its walls. She wanted out. "I need to..."  _I need to see Percy._

She wasn't looking at her as she said, "Command me."

"What?"

"Command me to let you leave."

She grabbed the opportunity immediately, without hesitation. "Let me go. That's my command."

Meg slipped back into the shadows, disappearing from her sight like she had never even been there. That barely registered in her mind – She was completely focused on wriggling out from underneath the blankets and slipping into the pair of sandals that had been placed on the side of the cot. She thought they might have been Percy's – They were too large for her feet, and she recognized them – but she quickly lost the thought in the fog that was the state of her head right now. Like a ghost, she pulled a robe across her shoulders, her hair catching underneath the garment and she pulled it out automatically, and left the room, careful to not wake any of the other patients.

As distracted as she was, because she had to find Percy and try to explain, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the young woman who was thrashing in her bed, a low, pained moan coming from her throat. She avoided looking at the other occupants – There were many people here, too many – as she opened the door to the hallway and closed it behind her.

The outside was even quieter than the infirmary. Annabeth felt like she was the only person alive in that moment; all she could hear was the sound of her footsteps slapping quietly against the stone floors. There were no sentries posted which struck her as odd, but she pushed that into the back of her mind to puzzle over later. Her chest felt heavy and it was hard for her to breathe, but she was pretty sure that was just nervousness.

She hadn't felt this nervous in a long time. Not since the night they'd been married. Gods, it felt they had married a lifetime and a half ago already. She couldn't believe it hadn't been a year.

What was she going to tell him anyway?  _Hi, Percy. Look, I know you might think I slept with somebody else but I didn't. I'm not with child, never have been. Gaius was just wrong with his diagnosis. No, I don't have proof. You just have to trust me._

Yeah, right. That would go over well. She couldn't see him putting her head on the chopping block if he had a say in it, but infidelity was a crime punishable by death.

She was standing in front of their bedchambers before she had enough time to formulate her facts – Which were depressingly little – and she swallowed. Her mouth was dry. And her hands were sweating.

"Okay," she muttered to herself under her breath, pacing around the door. "You can do this, you can do this. You got this. Just go in there and say  _hey, Percy! I'm not with child!_ That'll be good. Uh-huh."

She stared at the foreboding doors that remained shut to the world.

Who was she kidding? She can't do this. She should just go to Octavius now and... And what? Say she slept with another man? That would be a lie and she swore to herself she wouldn't lie about anything except the Champion of Olympus... and who her mother was... But those weren't even lies. She just didn't talk about it. Ever. And nobody suspected that she, Poor Uneducated, Naïve Annabeth, would be someone sentenced to die for the gods.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, lifted her hand to rap against the door – and dropped it.

Wasn't this her room too? She could just walk in there now if she felt like it. She should. She will. So she placed her hand on the doorknob – And dropped it again. She couldn't. But wouldn't this mean she was behaving like she was guilty? She had nothing to feel guilty about. She was just nervous. Over nothing. Except maybe ruining her marriage for eternity. Then they'd hate each other and then she'd be miserable and she didn't want to go back to being miserable now that she had had a taste of happiness.

"I'm an idiot," she said loudly. She began to pace again. "Come on, Annabeth. Just knock. You're brave, aren't you?"

Except all her courage felt like it had turned and fled from her, leaving her raw and open and just... Not Annabeth. Who was being an idiot. Not Annabeth was an idiot and she couldn't seem to muster the strength to rap against the door. Or open it.

Annabeth was very mad with Not Annabeth.

Oh, to Tartarus with it! What  _was_ she doing?

With that, she nodded to herself very firmly, took a deep breath, marched up to the door and thwacked it. Hard.

 _Ow ow ow!_ She would have sworn under her breath if she wasn't so nervous, shaking her hand to try to get rid of the stinging in her knuckles. She could have broken a few! Then Gaius definitely would keep her for a week. Or a month. Or forever. She couldn't tell with him. She thought Meg might try to keep her forever. Maybe she could drag Piper down? And Thalia! They could have a polygamy! That would be nice. No meltdowns due to men. Or boys.

Only Thalia was happily married and expecting a baby.

Right. Polygamy was out.

She opened the door to their chambers slowly when she decided that he was probably ignoring her (She would ignore him if she were in his shoes... but then again, he wasn't immature), peaking around the corner of the door. "Percy?" she called softly. No answer. "I'm coming in."

A few heartbeats later (or maybe an eternity, she couldn't tell over the roaring of blood in her ears), she closed the door behind her.

There was nobody here. For a moment, she felt irrationally angry – She spent all that time summoning her courage to speak to him, and he  _was not here?_ – but then she exhaled in relief. He was probably going to come by sooner or later, if only for sleep. At least she wouldn't have to talk to him immediately.

Wait. That was a bad thing. She wanted to  _explain._ Except she didn't know how to explain.

She wanted to hit her head against something hard. The warmth from the dying fire called to her like a siren's song, and she walked over to the grate, sitting down heavily on the chair in front of it. The embers were orange and yellow and even red still, and she tossed a log into it for something to do. She wiped the soot off her hands with her dress and sighed, sinking deeper into the chair.

She'd have to do something nice for Grover sometime. That is, if she doesn't lose her head. She laughed shakily, closing her heavy eyes, and pulled her legs up against her chest.

And if she felt this bad not knowing what he was doing, she couldn't even image what the last few days for him had been like. She didn't want to think about it anymore – All she could do was wait for him to come back, because going out to look for him would be foolish. He'll come when he comes and that was that.

So she waited.

* * *

Percy would have completely missed her if he hadn't moved toward the fire to put it out with a cup of water. She didn't look comfortable sleeping on the chair like that, and the confusion (and anger) slipped away into concern when he saw the dark circles underneath her eyes and how waxy her skin looked. Why did she look so...? The only word he could think of was weak, even though he knew she was everything but weak.

Or, at least, he thought she was everything but weak. He thought he knew her.

He didn't know what to think about her right now.

With a sigh, he squatted down in front of her and rested his hand on her too cold ankle. Her breathing was unsteady, and he couldn't help but feel a pang in his chest. She looked sick.

 _Miscarriage does that to you,_ a voice in his head reminded him. He huffed and stood. But then he looked down at her again and ran his hand over the front of his face. The weight of the world felt like it was resting on his shoulders, and he felt so, so small right now.

And this had been why he'd thrown himself into those reports, to keep him mind off of this. Whatever  _this_ was. Maybe it was nothing, maybe it was not.

It seemed the only way he knew how to cope was to pretend the problem didn't even exist.

Why was he doing this to himself? Why did he kept torturing himself like this? He thought he'd stopped blaming himself for things that weren't his fault.

"You drive me crazy, you know that right?" he whispered to himself, because she wouldn't hear him and he knew it. He wasn't sure if it was in a good way or in a bad way either, her driving him crazy. He didn't really know what to feel toward her anymore. The facts didn't add up. But Gaius said she miscarried and they definitely hadn't slept together. So either he was wrong or he was right, and Percy couldn't see him being wrong in his diagnosis. Which meant that she had to have slept with another man. But that didn't make sense either, because it didn't feel like her character.

Or maybe he didn't know what her character was.

And maybe this was all just a misunderstanding that she could fix when she wakes up tomorrow.

Or maybe it was utmost understanding.

He could leave her here. He probably should. He didn't really want to be near her right now. Or anyone. But he knew he'd feel guilty tomorrow – Sleeping like that wasn't comfortable, he knew that too well. And with how pale she was, he had a feeling that she wasn't well.

He hated how weak she looked. It wasn't a good face on her.

With a growl underneath his breath, because she was  _still_ tugging on his heartstrings even when she was asleep and even when he was furious with her ( _and hurt, and confused,_  his treacherous mind added), he turned and walked away. He was going to sleep and he was going to wake up tomorrow, thinking this was all one really bizarre dream. Or it was not a bizarre dream and this was reality and she had miscarried.

And she was recovering from miscarrying.

He really hated how he kept doing this to himself.

But he still turned on his heel and crossed back into the room. All he wanted to do was go to sleep, but he obviously wasn't going to be able to until he soothed his guilty conscious even though he had  _nothing_ to feel guilty for. Carefully, he placed his left arm underneath her knees and the other around the small of her back, pulling her off the chair.

She was ridiculously heavy for someone so small.

Her eyes opened the instant she was airborne and she stared at him. "It's me," he said quickly when she tensed. She didn't recognize him and he didn't want her to begin thrashing in his arms. "Percy."

The instant he said his name, she melted into his arms and wrapped pressed her head against his collarbone. She exhaled slowly, and he inhaled the scent of dirt and something feminine that he still couldn't quite put his finger on.

"I wasn't pregnant," she whispered. He stopped walking in the middle of the room, tempted to dump her on the ground.  _I don't want to have this conversation tonight!_

And then what she said registered in his head. He couldn't help but spit out, "Right, and that's why Gaius says you miscarried." She tensed in his arms, and he tried to get a grip on himself.

Her hand cupped his jaw and he unwillingly met her gaze. Her eyes were too readable – He wasn't used to them being so open that he felt like he was reading papyrus. But there was always a string attached: He felt like he was reading the work of a scholar about some obscure subject he knew nothing about.

Maybe she was vulnerable. To him. He certainly felt like he could be pushed over the edge of a cliff with just her pinky.

"Whatever happened to me, it wasn't miscarriage. All I know is that I haven't missed any months for my bleeding."

He wished he could believe her. She looked so honest, but he just... He trusted Gaius. He trusted her too, gods help him. He still trusted her. And he just wanted to trust her completely.

"What are you thinking?" Her voice sounded so small and she looked so small in his arms. He just wanted to go to sleep right now and pretend this wasn't happening but he couldn't move. His feet were rooted to the ground.

"I don't know what I'm thinking," he said honestly. "I want to believe you."

"I wish I k-knew how to make you believe me." And her voice cracked midway through her sentence. He moved again, unsure of how to respond to that. So he did the only thing he knew how to do – Move. "I swear I haven't slept... with another man."

A spark suddenly lit in her eyes and he felt nervous. Very nervous. He crossed the threshold of their bedroom and closed the door behind him by kicking it with his foot gently. He probably should not feel like his stomach was about to flip itself over.

"Let's have sex," she announced. He stared at her.

"Have you lost your  _mind,_  Annabeth?"

Because if this was her trying to make him believe her, she was going to have to do a lot better than that. Though if she was up to having sex after miscarriage... She shook her head.

"No, I haven't. Because I am still a virgin and it's supposed to hurt or something... right?" She peeked up at him through her eyelashes. He was still convinced she lost her mind. Maybe she'd gone mad with grief? "Percy?"

"Yes?" he said slowly, drawing on what limited experience he'd had with girls. "Annabeth, this is a bad idea. I'm pretty sure there is a better way. Like I can just  _take your word for it._ "

But now that he was thinking about it...

"No, you can't, because you'll be always wondering and then this'll keep going on in your head and then this'll cause a rift in our marriage and then we'll hate each other." she argued mutinously, crossing her arms. She was fixating on this and he was trying to make sense of her sudden onslaught of words.

"I could never hate you," he said eventually, not entirely sure he was telling her the truth. She poked him in the chest.

"Liar, liar," she sing-sang. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Sorry. I know that infidelity is a crime punishable by death, for women at least, and I don't... I don't want you to lie, or think you're lying. Or think I'm lying. I don't want you to lie to me. And the only way you can believe me is by consummating our marriage."

"A year late," he reminded her, but now he was thinking it through. He had a bad feeling about this, that they were making a mistake... But he also knew that this could – no, it  _would_ cause a rift between them. Subconsciously, at least. And he didn't want that either. Besides, she was right – He needed facts and consummating would mean he wouldn't be able to not believe her.

Were they being reckless? He wasn't sure. He did know his emotions were definitely blinding him at the moment, but his mind was telling him this was the only way... And she was the one who suggested it. She obviously wasn't nervous about physical intimacy anymore. It was only him at this point.

She was still watching him, waiting for his decision.

He dropped her, and she stumbled before regaining her balance. She stood in front of him, one golden-brown eyebrow perfectly raised, silently challenging.  _Are you scared? I'm not._

Throwing the voice that insisted that this was a Very Bad Idea to the wind, he took one step forward, planted his hands on her cheeks and pressed her lips against hers. It was gentler than he expected, what with how upset he still felt. Even now he was afraid she was as fragile as porcelain and would break.

Apparently, she did not like being treated like porcelain.

Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck and she leapt on him, legs wrapping around his hips, her tongue tracing the outline of his lips. He gripped her thighs, perhaps a little  _too_  tight, backpedaling until he bumped against the wall. Her fingers pulled something off his shoulders without disconnecting their lips, and his heart raced in tandem with hers.

She pushed off the wall and he stumbled. Something fell off the desk she slid over with a loud crash and she jumped. He pulled away for a moment but she chased after him, capturing his lips again with an almost frenzied desperation. His teeth crashed against hers and he pulled away with a wince.

"You okay?" he asked, catching the grimace on her face. She nodded. Then her lips pressed against the juncture where his shoulder and neck met, and he rolled his head to the side automatically, quite unable to control his actions. Oddly enough, the hand on his cold shoulder felt like a living flame as he lifted her again, wheeling back toward the bed. They fell, and she caught herself before she could collide with his chest, hair falling over her shoulder.

Their lips had disconnected during the fall and he stared at her, coming to his senses a little. Was she really okay with this?

Apparently, yes.

She sat up and shrugged off the robe he hadn't even realized she'd been wearing until now, revealing the thin chiton she was wearing underneath it.

His mouth suddenly went very dry at the amount of skin displayed – The only other times he even saw her tanned, defined arms was when she was in full armor, and that was very, very different. He was usually too focused on her form to actually  _pay attention_ to her beauty or too busy evading blows more recently. But now...

"Gods, you're the most beautiful woman I've seen."

Her cheeks colored. He couldn't help but smile as he pulled her back down, and then her lips attached to his jaw. A moan built in his throat as his head fell back against his will, his hands tangling back in her hair. If he closed his eyes, he could almost forget that they weren't doing this just for themselves and nothing else. He could pretend they were just a man and a woman in love.

The feeling that this wasn't supposed to happen this way grew stronger but he kept pushing it away the more the clothing was shed. So what if this wasn't ideal? They didn't have their entire lives to wait anymore. They didn't  _want_ to wait anymore.

He wrapped his fingers around the knot of her chiton and looked at her, silently asking if it was all right to remove this last layer of clothing between them. He could hear her gulp and he pulled away when she didn't indicate it was okay – Because even now, he didn't want to cross without her. Her small hands wrapped around his and she nodded once, gray eyes burning with conviction.

At least, he hoped that was conviction.

Too late to go back now.

The chiton unraveled before his eyes, leaving just... Annabeth.

"Oh, my gods," was the only thing he managed to get out between his breathlessness and the heavy feeling in his chest. She was blushing hard enough that red had crept down to her chest, and she wasn't quite looking at him. Granted, he was too focused on memorizing the toned muscles of her arms and her stomach and her legs and – and everything.

He pushed himself up and kissed a scar on her ribcage, right underneath her left breast. She was staring at him, and he smiled at her. "You're beautiful," he murmured genuinely. He kissed another scar, on her thigh. He sat up and kissed another he'd noticed on her shoulder. Her eyes looked a little watery and he was worried she might burst into tears – Was he being too forward? Granted, they were completely naked, but he was never sure with her what it was...

"Really?"

He nodded. "Every last bit of you," he promised. "From here," – He kissed her forehead, – "to here," –her nose, – "and here," –each of her hands, — "all the way down to here." and he cradled her foot in his own hands, kissing her knee since he could not reach her foot. And it was the pure, simple, honest truth.

She switched them so that he was on top and he rested on his elbows, pressing his forehead against hers, watching her eyes. A thousand emotions ran across them, and he kissed her lips again. His hands, which he'd been so careful with because he didn't want to break her, wandered up and massaged her sides, watching every faint sigh and every moan when he touched a tender spot and every laugh when he accidentally tickled her. She was so... She was so  _Annabeth,_ even like this. She deserved the world and more.

"Are you sure?" he gasped, wanting nothing more than to enter her right then and there. Her chest kept hitting his as she heaved for air as she nodded.

"Yes." He heard the unheard  _I want you to believe me._ He could see it in her eyes. She smiled wryly. "I'm sure. I trust you."

The feeling came back with a vengeance, reminding him that they had put this off because they wanted to be sure. At least, he did. And he wasn't sure still if he was ready. He didn't want this to happen the way it had with Rachel – They'd rushed into it, and they had regretted it.

He wasn't ready.

He wasn't ready. Not yet. He couldn't do this. Not like this. He didn't want their actions to be ruled by fear or anger. He loved her too much for this.

"I can't do this." He exhaled through his nose and his eyes burned. He wanted to do this. But he couldn't. "Not like this."

Gods, maybe he was the one who was scared with being intimate after all this time. This wasn't normal.

He pressed his head into her shoulder as the tears slipped out of his eyes. Her arms slowly wrapped around him, and he exhaled, trying to steady himself again. "Percy?"

For a moment, he tried to push himself up, but her arms tightened around him and her fingers rose then carded through his hair. He pressed his lips against her bare skin, apologizing and thanking all at once.

"I want to," he croaked. "You know I want to."

But not like this.

She looked hurt and he knew it was because of him, which only made him feel even worse.

"I love you too much to let our first time be this way." It wasn't an explanation, not really, but he didn't know how else he could explain it. She inhaled sharply. But her heart still kept beating in tandem with his. "I believe you." His voice cracked. "I believe you. I'm so sorry. It's me. It's not you, I swear. I just... I can't do it like this."

Her arms tightened around his. "It's okay, Percy." And her voice cracked too. He lifted his head so he could meet her eyes and all he saw was warmth in them and something like guilt. "I'm sorry for pushing this."

He sat up and kissed her again. He shook his head. This wasn't her fault – It was neither of their faults. It was just their emotions flaring up and just . . . both of them acting impulsively. He should have listened to his gut sooner. "Don't be. It isn't your fault. Please don't feel guilty."

For a moment, they didn't move, and then her hand rose and her thumb brushed against his cheek. He closed his eyes, the heavy feeling in his chest not subsiding.

"I'm going to get my robe," she said quietly. He nodded, still not opening his eyes.

"Can you grab me one too?" Because now he felt more exposed in his life. Her weight left the bed and a few moments later, the cloth hit his head. He pulled it over himself, but he didn't feel any less... He didn't even know how to explain this feeling. He felt like he'd just bared the deepest, ugliest parts of his soul to her light and he hadn't done it willingly.

That was exactly how he felt right now.

She slipped back into the bed with him and he looked at her. Her skin was still waxy, and if anything, the circles underneath her eyes were darker. Guilt clawed its way into his insides. He wanted to rip them up and pretend they didn't belong to him. He wanted to be loyal, he wanted to be fake, because that was the only parts of him that were strong.

"It's okay," she whispered, as if she had been reading his thoughts. Maybe she had. He thought she might know him better than he knew himself at this point. "I understand."

"I believe you," he repeated, to make himself feel like this had amounted to something. It hadn't, not really. He would have believed her anyway, if he'd been given time to think it over. He was just—

"Stop," she commanded him. "Stop blaming yourself, Percy."

"I can't," he admitted, because at this point he had nothing left to hide. "I'm more broken than I care to admit."

For a moment, she just stared at him, and then she reached up and wrapped her arms around him. "Fine then," she whispered. "You're broken. We're just human, Percy. That's all we are in the end. I can't save you. I don't know how to. Only you can do that yourself, but I do know you are strong enough to fix yourself. I love you. Something in the way you move makes me feel like I can't live without you and it makes me want to go all the way to the end of this, wherever it may lead us. But you don't need me to be whole. Just like I don't need you to be whole. All I want to do is share my life with you, and that's what makes me feel like I'm able to fly."

He wrapped his arms around her again, squeezing her tight, trying to convey what words would not tell her. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you too. You make me feel so alive."

"I know." She gripped him so tight he couldn't breathe, but he didn't mind. "I know."

Sleep did not come to him, even when Annabeth eventually dropped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is wondering: I did mildly traumatize myself writing this chapter. :')


	38. Caput XXXVIII: The Tolling of the Clock

_"_ _Just remember, a dark shadow need light to exist but light doesn't need darkness to be luminous." - Gwen Hayes_

Caput XXXVIII: The Tolling of the Clock

* * *

 

 **THE**  sky was painted in a thousand shades of pink and red and purple and orange. Red bled into orange and pink, and pink and purple bled into blue. The red and orange sun touched shimmering golden white yellow water - the sky reflected off of the deep blue sea. The world was bathed in a golden glow that almost hurt his eyes to look at.

"Percy," the wind whispered into his ear. He turned, twisting his upper body though his feet remained planted in the white sand. His mother smiled, sadness in her eyes which reflected the movement of the sea behind him. She reached out and touched his shoulder, hand surprisingly solid. She looked like she wanted to tell him something, but couldn't.

"Matera...?" he prompted. She shook her head at him. He thought there was darkness on her face. "Matera, what is wrong?"

"I'm sorry," a melodious voice said, "she can't hear you or speak to you." Percy jumped and spun in a circle. A woman at on top of a rock in the middle of the sea, though her voice sounded like it was right next to him. Her long hair, which looked like it was made out of seawater, flowed down to her bare waist.

Percy yanked his eyes back up to her face. The sea woman had a sly smile on her lips. He looked back over at his mother was standing - but she had gone. All that remained was a warm touch and the wind playing at his hair.

"Where did she go?" he asked, turning back to the sea woman - A naiad, perhaps? The sea woman shook her head.

"Back," she replied with a shrug of her bare shoulders. "Back to where she belongs."

Percy studied his feet. He buried them into the sand, watching as the sand shifted between his toes. Odd, how tanned they were when he didn't step outside very much. He avoided the sun as much as he could since it burned his skin easily.

 _Back to where she belongs._ That must be back in the underworld - Though why he could see her now was strange to him. But then again, this  _was_ his dream. He would dream up a naked woman and his mother talking to him, wouldn't he?  _Especially with Annabeth -_

Nope. He was  _so_ not ready to deal with that can of worms. He shoved that thought into the box in the  _other_ corner of his mind for future examination when he felt ready to tackle it. Which was not now.

"Be brave, mortal king." The sea woman's voice startled him into looking up at her accidentally. He fixed on her eyes to block out everything else as she stepped out of the water and in front of him. "You'll need all the courage you can muster when the hour of despair strikes."

Percy frowned. "What are you talking abo-"

Moonlight bathed the room in a silver glow. Percy stared up at golden and red draperies. The shadows twisted in the decoration, taking on the shapes of the monsters that he thought had once hidden underneath his bed. The shadows looked like they were laughing at him.

Despite himself, goosebumps erupted on his arms and even the hair on the back of his neck rose.

Suddenly, he became aware of the fact that Annabeth was draped all over him - Like a starfish. He wasn't exactly sure how she did it, but she had hogged all the blankets again. (He pretended that he wasn't hogging the pillows.) And she was snoring by his ear. Loudly.

Or those might be from Annabeth.

His heart started pounding so hard he was half afraid it would burst out of his chest.

Well, this certainly wasn't a dream. Or... what happened earlier this night, for that matter. It  _definitely_ wasn't a dream. He could smell her hair - lemons - and feel it tickling his chin and his nose.

 _I am an idiot,_ he told himself for what felt like the millionth time that night. He felt even more tired than he had before he fell asleep for some reason.  _And the worst husband in the history of Rome. Ever. I am the worst husband ever. There is something wrong with me._

Which ... he had already established. Several times, in fact.

He banged his head against a pillow. Again.

There was no way he was going to end up falling asleep like this. Not only was he way too awake, but he was currently torturing himself. He might as well try to do something more productive. Like ... go for a walk around the battlements. Maybe even the Field of Mars. That was a good idea.

Carefully, he wriggled out from underneath Blanket Hogging Annabeth. Her hand clawed through the air, reaching for him even in sleep, and he shoved a pillow into her hand. Instantly, she hugged it, and he shook his head with a quiet chuckle. Of course she would.

He slipped into his sandals at the door, glanced over his shoulder at Annabeth one last time, and he closed the door shut behind him, taking care  _not_ to accidentally wake her up. He felt almost like he was in a dream - or he was wading through mud. His limbs were heavy as he splashed some water on his face, which had felt sticky for some reason, but he refused to contemplate the reason for  _that._ He'd probably made Annabeth cry enough for both of them last night, though she'd tried to hide it ...

 _I'm an idiot._ He carded his fingers through his hair as he walked through the too quiet halls. He'd never known ... He didn't even know why he'd completely lost it. He just - had.

And why was it so quiet anyway? There had been plenty of times where he'd wandered through the palace at night, especially after his mother and Rachel had died, and it had never been  _this_ silent. He couldn't hear the wind whistling through the arches, or the soft giggling of lovers in the alcoves, or the servants walking back to their rooms after a long, hard day of work.

He was close to the infirmary. Strange. It was on the the other side of the citadel - His feet must have led him here while he became lost in his thoughts. Maybe that was a good thing though ... If he could sort out which end was which in his head, maybe he could figure out what in Tartarus was  _wrong_ with him.

 _Bloody Hell, I hate emotions._ He was tempted to hit something. Or maybe hit his  _head_ against something. That might clear things up for him - Though he was also sure that it wouldn't actually too much to actually help him straighten his thoughts.

Maybe just getting an update on this spreading epidemic would help him... At the very least, it would distract him from this, at least for a while. He  _really_ didn't want to think about it right now. He'd rather not  _ever_ but that wouldn't be fair to Annabeth.

Oh, gods,  _Annabeth._

 _I am_ definitely _the worst husband in the history of husbands._ There was no way he was going to be able to pretend this hadn't happened ... and he kind of doubted bottling it up would actually work. But seriously, what kind of man said no to sex with his very beautiful wife?  _Twice?_

_Ugggggh. I must be mad._

"My liege?"

Percy jumped at the voice and spun around. A harried-looking nurse blinked up at him with doe eyes, clutching a pile of towels to her chest. He waved, deciding that that was the best course of action in Looking Innocent. It wasn't like he'd been out setting things on fire like that one time with Jason a few nights after Rachel had died . . .

 _Thank the gods nobody caught me._ He shuddered at the idea of his pater finding out what he'd been up to those nights so long ago - if he hadn't already known.  _At least Jason kept drugs away from me._

That would have been really,  _really_ bad.

"Hi?" he said, after the silence had gone on long enough to become awkward. The nurse didn't even move - so he slowly began to walk away. "You look busy - so I'll just, um..."

Gaius marched around the corner, and then he stopped short. Percy waved at him, because he didn't really know what else he was supposed to do in the middle of the night. It probably wasn't very becoming of him to be out this late without a good reason.

"Come, follow me," Gaius said, surprising him. And maybe even the girl, if the little jump she made was any indicator. "Melanie, take those to the back."

She stuttered something, ducked her head, and darted around him, practically bolting for the infirmary. Percy stared at her quickly retreating back, not exactly sure how he was supposed to feel about that. Was she scared of him for some reason?

"Don't mind my ward." Gaius fell into step beside him. "She has always been skittish, though she has a brilliant mind when she has her head screwed on straight. I've been training her to become the next physician."

Percy wasn't sure what was stranger - The idea that the old man had a ward or the fact that a Greek was training a  _girl_ to take a position of power.

"I thought you would be asleep by now," he said, following him into the infirmary. "It's so-"

He stopped. Literally, couldn't move. Something inside of him tightened. There were so many cots in the infirmary - Far more than he'd ever seen with his own eyes. Far more than he'd ever wanted to see at one time. And so many of them were filled with people. Men, women, children ... So many were coughing... Some even worse...

"What happened?" He whispered, unable to bring himself to speak any louder than that. His head spun -  _Oh._ Air. He needed to  _breathe._ Deliberately, he inhaled and exhaled slowly. He faced Gaius, who suddenly looked like he had aged a decade in a heartbeat.

"It worsened," he eventually said, sitting down heavily at one of the benches. The wood creaked under his weight. Percy felt too antsy to sit. And of _course_ it worsened - Percy wasn't  _blind._ But now wasn't the time for sarcasm. So, he waited, barely able to stand still. He tried not to glance around at the bustling of nurses flying around the infirmary.

"They just swarmed in like bees to honey a little after Lady Annabeth lost..." he trailed off. Percy closed his eyes and tried not to think of  _that._ She hadn't been pregnant. And he apparently was terrified of physical intimacy.  _Fantastic._ "I've been too busy to even think of informing you or your pater of these new developments. I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "No, don't be. There's nothing you can do about it now - and I understand why you wouldn't think about it." He hesitated before plunging forward. "How many fatalities? How many are sick do you estimate?"

Numbers. He could deal with numbers. He didn't want to think about anything but numbers right now. Numbers were safe. Uncomplicated. Emotionless. Detached. He could deal with numbers right now.

"I estimate I have had two hundred people come in complaining of chest pangs or stomach aches. I've have had to keep fifty overnight due to fevers and forty have had to stay longer. So far, ten have died. But with the rate this illness is spreading, I'm afraid that it will become deadlier than it already is."

Numbers were  _not_ detached or emotionless.

Percy barely caught himself from hissing (or shouting) something that he probably shouldn't know but did thanks to Jason. That would only panic people more and - Oh, he didn't give a  _damn_ about decorum right now. It could be tossed out to rot for all he cared!

Gripping his elbows, he paced in tight circles to try to get rid of the anxious energy. This was bad. This was even worse than he thought originally. If all of this had happened in a day and ... not even a full night - Oh,  _gods._ They probably had a plague on their hands.

"We'll have to inform the public soon," he said half to himself. "There's no way we can keep an outbreak like this from them. There'll probably be panic - gods, maybe even a mob. But the senate first, and the assemblies ... Pater's going to have to assume  _Dictator_ if the senate deems this as a national crisis..." He shook his head harder. He turned in a neat pivot. "What will the assemblies do?" Then, back tracking as his thoughts caught up to him, "Forget the assemblies. What will the  _Senate_ do? They'll probably segregate the whole patrician and equestrian class from the plebeian and the enslaved class to protect themselves even though we have no idea where this is coming from and gods know how  _that'll_ cause a panic and - and - "

"Perseus!"

He stopped himself from rambling on further, trying to reign in his  _own_ panic before it could control him. Gaius was peering at him in concern. He took a deep breath to slow his racing thoughts. The last time he'd spewed words out like that had been years ago - the fact that  _that_ nervous tick had suddenly returned did not make him happy.

If Rome's people saw him like this, it would cause a panic quicker than news of an epidemic spreading.

 _I have had too much emotion in a day. Calm down. Calm down_ now.  _Before you cause a riot or worse. This is the type of behavior that gets you - and other people - killed._

"Sorry, sorry," he said hastily. "My thoughts got ahead of me." More like he panicked.

"Regardless, you brought up an excellent point. Perhaps we should segregate the sick from the well."

It took a moment for his mind to process the physician's words, and then he had to make sure he had understood them correctly. But no. That was plain Latin. There was no double meaning behind them. There  _could be_ no double meaning behind them.

"We don't know how many have been affected or even how long this illness –" He didn't want to call it a plague, not yet. "—has been circulating in the plebian ranks though. It could be some sleeper illness that only is just beginning to rear its ugly head now. For all we know, it could be out in the legions and the garrison towns by now."

"But it would surely help us to keep track of them."

Percy carded his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends. This was too much. He'd go back to losing it over Annabeth and their love life rather than dealing with this. At least that was personal, not national.

 _Technically, you need an heir -_ an annoying voice that sounded like pater reminded him.

_Shh! My problem. Not an immediate threat to Rome._

He was going mad. Maybe the last two days was just one horrid nightmare that he'll wake up from in the morning?

"I can't think clearly right now," he grumbled. "I need to sleep and try to formulate a plan. But I do think we need to tell the masses as soon as we are able."

Gaius nodded. "I agree. That should be our top priority – If we try to hide this any longer, it'll backfire on us. People are going to start noticing soon."

"I just really hope that this won't be as bad as the plague during the Civil Wars." That was a scary thought. He didn't think Rome could handle another one of those so soon. He dropped his hand, letting it hang limp by his side.

"I've never agree with words so easily. Was there anything else you needed?"

He shook his head. "No. I just went out for a nighttime stroll and ended up here." He walked to the door and looked over his shoulder. "Try to get some sleep, Gaius. You're not as young as you once were."

Gaius almost looked like he wanted to smile. Or maybe he wanted to scold him. Percy could never be sure what it was with him. "I will. You too, Perseus."

Despite himself, Percy managed a small smile at his words. If he wasn't the future heir, he'd probably pester Gaius until he allowed him to take care of him. Or maybe he would just work in a circus - He wasn't sure. The door opened and clicked shut behind him.

However, rest was the last thing he was going to do.

* * *

A hand touched his shoulder, gently shaking him into awareness. For a moment, Percy could do nothing as he blinked up at gray eyes and golden hair falling over bare, freckled shoulders.

Wait - he was just imagining the freckles. That was Annabeth. And she was wearing a chiton over her shoulders. And she looked worried, if the way she was biting her lip was anything to say.

He shook his head to clear the remaining fogginess from his mind and groaned, rolling his head slowly to get the cricks out of his neck. Maybe next time he should read in bed if he was tired instead of sitting at the desk... Then he remembered  _why_ he had been awake so late into the night and groaned.

"What's going on?" she asked softly. Hoarsely. He tugged on her hand gently, and she sat on top of his desk. Which had nothing on top of it but everything was on the floor. Why was everything on the floor? He was somewhat compulsive about keeping everything in its place and -

Oh, right. They'd knocked it all off last night.

"Percy?"

He closed his eyes and allowed his forehead to fall against her knee softly. All nighters were a terrible idea. He needed to remember that the next time he couldn't get to sleep. But her knee made a good pillow when he was dead tired which was definitely not something that was normal when he wasn't sleep deprived.

"I'm sorry," he said. He kept his eyes closed, feeling very much like a child who was too scared to go into the cellar because he could not see through the darkness at the bottom.

She didn't say anything at first. In fact, she went very, very still. Something inside of him thought that this might not be the best time to have this conversation. He was clearly half asleep and liable to make the problem worse. But he also knew that he wouldn't have the courage to bring it up with her later - and he was pretty sure that  _this_ was a problem. That he caused.

So, the way to begin fixing it was to acknowledge and apologize for it.

Apologizing was easier than acknowledging the elephant in the room.

"Did you mean what you said?" Her voice was soft, hesitant. He pulled away from her very comfy knee and sat on his chair, folding his long legs together. She plopped her feet in his lap and he very, very carefully kept his hands away from them. Now was not the time to be tempted to tickle her.

"I said a lot of things last night, Annabeth." Not all of them nice, now that he thought about it. Quite a lot of stupid though.  _We both lost our minds last night._

She reached out and tugged the medical tome from his hands before placing it aside from her on the desk. Then she leaned over and took his hands with her own, twisting her fingers around his and playing with them. The position was a little awkward, they both had to lean forward, but they made it work.

"You... Uh, you said you loved me."

 _I did?_ He must have, though he couldn't quite remember it.

"Did you mean that?"

He took her palms in his, stilling her movements. Did he mean it? Yes. Yes, of course he had. He did love her. He wasn't actually sure how or when that happened, but he supposed it didn't really matter, the details.

"If I didn't," he said a little wryly, "I don't think we would be in this position, Annabeth."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. There was so much they needed to sort through, but maybe that could wait for later when he wasn't half asleep.

"Why are you sleeping over-" She tilted her head, flipped the cover open. " _A Thousand Herbal Remedies_ at the crack of dawn _?_ "

"Those mild illnesses have become an epidemic," he explained. "I couldn't sleep last night and ... I wanted to feel like I was doing something useful."

She studied him. Her eyes were lit with a blaze of intelligence as she catalogued how he looked - He  _felt_ pretty wretched right now. Really, all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep for a year, or until all these problems disappeared.

"I haven't sparred with someone in a while," she said slowly. She poked his shoulder. "And that's entirely your fault."

He didn't bother with trying to hold back his smile at her gentle teasing - and her offer to distract him, at least for a little while.

"Let me grab my sword. I want to see if you've managed to pass me up yet."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he rolled his eyes.  _Di immortals,_ and this was the woman his pater had tricked him into marrying for the betterment of Rome?

"Get your scrawny podex out there," she said, hopping off the desk and cocking her hip to the side. She smirked at him, and her gaze was  _blazing._ She tossed her head mockingly. "I'm going to destroy you."

"My podex is not  _scrawny,_ " he retorted, bouncing up. She ducked underneath his arm as he lunged for her to throw her over his shoulder, and she laughed in a way that was not considered ladylike – more of a mocking sound, to him.

They'd have to talk later, but for now, this was enough.

* * *

The door creaked open slowly, so slowly, in fact, that Percy didn't hear it until a shadow fell over him and a hand rested on his shoulder. Jumping a little, he looked away from the medicinal tome he'd been thumbing through and met his pater's tired eyes.

"What did the senate decide?" he asked, closing the book and putting it to the side. Hope and fear writhed in his stomach and slid up his throat, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

"They're going to declare Rome is in a state of emergency. The entire city will be on lock down and I will be named as dictator until the crisis has passed."

His heart sank like a stone in water at the carefully enunciated words. His pater's expression was blank - blank, but worn. He didn't know what the older man was thinking. Not that he was really sure he wanted to know.

He moved so that there was a spot on the windowsill and his pater sat, breathing heavily. The silence was too stifling for him to bare, so, keeping his voice low in case someone passed by them, he prompted, "When?"

"They'll announce it to the masses at midday. They're going to segregate the sick from the well."

"That's just going to cause more panic." Percy frowned and looked out, watching the people go about their daily business with no cares over their heads. Sometimes he honestly envied them - sometimes, he wished he didn't have the weight of a country he was expected to inherit on his shoulders. "Let me guess," he drawled, rolling his head back to look at his pater, "they're going to leave the city as soon as they can too, aren't they?"

His pater's eyes flashed and his gaze fell. Percy snorted, sick to his stomach with disgust at the selfishness.  _Be thou for the people -_ as if. They would stab a family member in the back to save their own necks.

 _Why me?_ he remembered asking Rachel once, when his mother had died. Why was he not like the others - Why was his mother gone ...  _Why not you?_ she had replied fiercely.

"Perseus, I want you to take the princess and Praetor Jason or Praetor Reyna and leave Rome until this plague passes."

Percy shook his head automatically. "No. Absolutely not." A little more fiercely - "I will not abandon my country when it needs me."

He might envy those people who had no cares, but he'd been born into this position ... So he would seize this opportunity and use it to fight for them when so many squandered this honor or used it for their own gain.

"And I will not watch my second child die in front of my eyes." His pater replied just as fiercely, startling him. Julia? He was talking about Julia? He never talked about her - just like he never talked about his mother.

He sighed and nudged his pater, making him meet his eyes again. He loved him, but he loved Rome just as much. Besides, duty came first.

"Regardless of Julia, I can't run away and pretend that this is not happening. Not only is that cowardly, but it is dishonorable. You and mater raised me to be better than that."

For a moment, his pater's eyes hardened and Percy's heart rate quickened. He wondered if his pater was going to force him to leave – Which he wouldn't listen to anyway – but then the look in his eyes softened and he sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.

"You remind me of your mater when you look at me like that. She was just as bullheaded as you." He smiled slightly before it was masked by his normal expression. Percy grinned in return. It wasn't often he was compared to her. "I cannot argue with you."

"No," he told him gently.  _Not on this._ He wasn't a child anymore. Percy stood and placed a hand on his pater's shoulder. "You'll figure it out eventually. You always do." He said honestly. His pater nodded, once, so he turned and walked toward the door.

"Oh, and Perseus?" He glanced over his shoulder and caught his pater's gaze again. "I'm sorry about Annabeth."

He dropped his gaze. Guilt gnawed at the insides of his stomach. But this was the one thing he would lie for – If they knew the true story, she'd certainly be exiled at the very least . . . maybe worst . . .  _No. I'll take this secret to my grave._

"I am too," he said quietly, and he closed the door behind him with a firm click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Footnotes: 
> 
> 1) At that point in time Rome was still, technically, a republic so Octavius would be considered a consul... if this was the actual Octavius/Augustus from history. Of course, Rome wasn't actually much of a republic either because the senate basically ignored the voice of the people - it was more of an oligarchy than a republic since the power resided in The Few (patricians/senators) who were the elite in society.
> 
> 2) A dictator is not a tyrant in the way we think of them. One of the two consuls would be promoted to dictator, which is a position of pretty much unlimited power, in times of crisis and once the crisis had passed they were expected to step down. Some of them did, others obviously ... did not.
> 
> (I wish I knew this when I first started writing this years ago. It would have been awesome writing the power struggles of the late Republic. *groans*)


	39. Caput  XXXIX: Piece by Piece

_"You always have two choices: your commitment versus your fear." - Sammy Davis, Jr._

Caput XXXIX: Piece by Piece

* * *

 

 **"STAY**  calm, good citizens of Rome, for I bring to you the wretched news of a spreading epidemic…"

 _Stay calm?_ Percy thought a little wildly.  _How is that supposed to be calming? That's the very_ opposite  _of calm._

As the official announcer continued on speaking in that vein, declaring that the people were to be segregated, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach made him close his eyes. This was so messed up. Why was the Senate segregating the people when they didn't even know what was causing this illness?

 _Think it through,_ a part of him reminded him. If they could isolate where this plague was coming from, it would be that much easier to cure.

However, he thought while listening as the murmuring lifted into cries of alarm and an occasional wail, it was just as likely that this approach would backfire on all the socialites. It could cause riots, mobs… thieves and conartists would profit off of this hysteria. The people could revolt. They could try to kill all the Senate. Chaos and anarchy. Panic. Mob rule. It could be the end of Rome as they knew it. Gods, the Gauls could sack Rome again like it had all those years ago, but they could keep it this time around. Then Rome would really be gone.

"Uh oh," a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. "I know that look. You can be remarkably level headed at times, and then stuff like this happens and you start becoming hysterical." Jason raised one eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, and Percy took in his waxy complexion and the circles around his eyes.

"You look terrible."

"So do you," he replied without losing a beat. Jason slid into the seat, knocking his legs off, and his head thumped against the wall as he looked out. The people that were being herded away into separate groups like they were flocks of sheep. "I feel pretty damn useless at the moment."

"Me too," he agreed with a sigh, and they lapsed into silence. What could they do about this anyway? He'd never even heard of anything like this happening practically overnight; it reeked of the work of the gods, and that was never good. If a god had caused this, then only a god to fix this … and they certainly weren't gods, no matter what some of the people in the Senate seemed to think. Even his father. Especially what pater seemed to think about himself.

They were only men and men were mortal. Men could die.

Jason laughed suddenly. "Look at us. We're having a pity party, aren't we?"

Percy rolled his eyes, but a part of him was glad that his thoughts had been pulled away from his previous line of thought. He didn't like reflecting on mortality on the best of days, and this was certainly  _not_ a good time to be thinking about it. "It looks like we are."

A speculative gleam entered Jason's eyes as he stood. He bounced on the balls of his feet. It seemed like he had about as much restless energy as Percy himself had, if not more. He just wasn't as good at hiding it.

"Let's do something about it then. I'm going to go mad just sitting here, waiting to die." The light in his eyes was a little crazed and more than a little desperate, but Percy didn't say anything about it. Maybe they all needed insanity. It certainly had to be better than just doing nothing. "Let's get the books out of the locked section of the library."

"Jason, you know those are restricted for a reason, right?" He still remembered sneaking into that part of the library when he was younger. Even Rachel had agreed with him, when they had read it. Nobody should know of the content inside of them: it was just too dangerous in the wrong hands. "The things written in those books—they're unspeakable. Dark rites from the gods. Ways to drive people into madness."

"Possible answers for this illness." Jason made an all-encompassing gesture with his hands. "You know just as well as I do that this isn't natural. We don't know where it came from, it just appeared practically overnight. Which means that it's not going to be answered by natural means."

Percy hesitated. His gut instinct was to say no, but Gaius wasn't making any headway on finding an answer to this illness. Maybe they should open that part of the library and allow a few people to look through them… If there was  _anything_ in those books that could help them, then who was he to deny them that?

"My father does not learn of this," he decided. He met Jason's slightly unsettling gaze and held it. "Nobody knows except those we can trust. Those books are dangerous in the wrong hands.  _I_ probably shouldn't even know they exist."

"Of course." Percy stood and Jason pivoted so that they were walking side by side. "Who do you want to know?"

"Reyna," he replied instantly, and didn't miss the way Jason's eyes dropped to the floor and looked away, as if he felt guilty. He filed that away for a mental examination later, for when this epidemic was under control. This hadn't been the first time that he had acted oddly when Reyna was brought up.

"She's better at this stuff than both of us combined." He paused. Annabeth. She would probably thrive under these type of circumstances, especially since she  _liked_ attaining knowledge … if the books didn't traumatize her first. "Annabeth too. She should help."

"Annabeth?" Jason sounded surprised. Percy nodded, his resolve hardening. "I thought you said that what is inside these books are unspeakable."

"Annabeth's discreet," he replied, more sharply than he intended. He was beginning to grow tired with people doubting her intelligence when she had it in spades. Jason still looked skeptical, so he added, "She's smarter than I am with books."

"Okay," he agreed, drawling it out slightly. "There's somebody I know, too, who can help. He's an old friend of mine and he lives in some of the worst parts of Rome—his wife and their unborn child will be affected."

 _Old friend? Worst parts of Rome?_ That gave him a pause. But this was Jason and he did trust his judgement of character more than his own. He knew what to watch out for. However, if he was  _wrong_ in his judgement (he had been before – he wasn't infallible) then it wouldn't end well.

But it wasn't like Jason wouldn't say anything if he wasn't sure.

He nodded after a too long silence passed.

"So long he can be trusted."

"I'd put my life in my hands." Jason sounded serious, and that was a statement he didn't make lightly. As far as he knew, the only person he trusted completely like that was Reyna. Even Percy didn't make it there and he knew that. He would trust him with a number of things, but certainly not his own life. "He's probably the most honorable man I've ever known."

Percy felt a tired smile work its way onto his face. "And I trust  _your_  judgement," he said, feeling surer. "If you trust him, then I trust him to stay silent about this as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was an experiment. It didn't work.


	40. Caput XL: Unravel

_"A study in scarlet, eh? Why shouldn't we use a little art jargon? There's the scarlet thread of murder running through the colourless skein of life, and our duty is to unravel it, and isolate it, and expose every inch of it." – Arthur Conan Doyle_

Caput XL: Unravel

* * *

 

 **IT**  didn't take much for Percy to convince his pater to allow him access to the forbidden part of the bibliotheca; if anything, pater was a little  _too_ quick to agree to Jason's suggestion. The next morning, he jabbed Annabeth to get her to roll off his chest to face the brisk chill after another late night between paperwork and sparring with her. (He still wasn't sure how she had managed to convince him to go outside in the  _freezing_ air. He  _hated_ winter and its continuous rain.)

He pulled on his boots instead of his sandals (another reason why he hated Winter) and a cloak to keep warm, closing the door behind him with a firm click. Grover must have already woken since the hearth was already lit, but the faun was nowhere in sight. Silently, he left their wing of the castle and crept through the silent halls.

It was too quiet. He was an early riser by nature (he had too much energy to sleep in), and he wandered these halls a lot at night whenever he couldn't sleep. Usually slaves and servants were up and about at this hour, preparing to meet their master's needs, but now it was just  _still._ There was no movement in the air, a lack of life seemingly.

Percy scowled and quickened his pace. Hopefully, it was just the first freeze of winter keeping everyone inside since it was earlier than usual this year and not this plague. As bad as winter could get at times, it was  _natural._ It came and it went and it was constant; reliable. You were able to plan for it and prepare to weather through it most of the time.

 _Well, –_ He slipped out of the citadel and entered the not-quite-as-still streets; at least there seemed to be life here –  _the only way to cure this illness is to understand what it is. Hopefully, we'll be able to get it under control soon… I don't want too many people to suffer._

He smiled to himself as something came to him – a half remembered memory, of sorts. It  _would_  be easier if he was a  _mere_ circus performer; at least he wouldn't have these doubts eating at his conscious, making him second guess every step he took.

Although second guessing himself made him double check everything he did, which he was certain most of the Senators did  _not_ do.

Still, he would rather be able to say what he really thought and not fear to invoke some kingdom's wrath upon his country. That was definitely something he wished he could do but had always been too much of a coward to speak out. It was one of Annabeth's qualities that he envied at times; saying what she meant, without hiding her intent behind pretty words, was something she excelled at… even though it ruffled many feathers. Including his at times.

But he was beginning to realize that whenever he didn't like hearing what she was telling him, he needed to listen to her the most. She never sugarcoated the truth and her opinion was usually sound. It might have been funny – if it hadn't been so sad – that an uneducated woman was wiser than the most respected philosophers and attorneys.

The bibliotheca came into view, so Percy quickened his pace until he was slowly jogging. A lone soul sat on the shadows of an alley, curled into a threadbare blanket, and it reminded him vividly of how he had found Jason that one time when he had managed to shake off his bodyguards.

It also reminded him of how he had taken a wrong turn and ended up in a gang's territory when he had been a child. They had been fighting with a rival gang at the time; he could still remember the tension as they had demanded for him to tell him who he was and where he had come from and for whom he worked. Mostly the last one. They had expected a spy from the boy who had been covered in soot with a torn cloak, not the son of one of the consuls, and he had been too proud to say who he was to the  _street urchins_. He probably would have been injured or worse if Jason hadn't found him and convinced the mobsters that he wasn't from their rivals in time.

That had also been when he had begun to (grudgingly) respect the older boy who had been as high as a bird on some hallucinogen when he had first stumbled on him with Rachel.

Shaking the thoughts out his head literally, Percy skipped two steps as he darted up the stairs to enter the bibliotheca, barely remembering to close the door behind him. He took a deep breath and smoothed his toga down, mostly to have something to do with his hands. Glancing around, he spied Reyna's familiar, dark head slumped over a table and moved forward, intending to shake her awake. From personal experience, he knew that sleeping in that position would give someone a crick in their neck, but she moved and lifted her head and blinked at him.

"Salve?" she greeted, sounding more like she was asking a question. Her voice was unusually hoarse and he wished water was allowed in the bibliotheca – but books were a precious (and expensive) resource and anything that could potentially harm them was automatically forbidden. She grimaced as she slowly rolled her neck and shoulders in a small circle. "Ugh, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"How come you're down here anyway?" He sat down across from her, drawing the cloak and a book closer, still shivering. He blew hard to make sure he couldn't see his breath fogging in the air – it had happened before – but nothing happened. "It's freezing down here."

A smile played at her lips. "You know, you could offer up your cloak to me since it's oh-so-cold and I've been here all night long."

"No," he said bluntly. " _Mine._ I'm not sharing. And don't try to dodge."

She rolled her eyes. "So childish."

"So is avoiding answering my question."

"Maybe I don't want to answer your question."

"Maybe you're trying to talk me in circles because you're grumpy. You've never been an early riser—Usually, I had to drag you out of bed. Or Jason." Her expression dimmed at Jason's name. He frowned. "Is there something going on with Jason?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing, Percy. Don't worry." That only made him worry  _more._ She must have read his expression since she added, "It's just a rough spot we're working through," even though she probably hadn't wanted to say that much. She was a private individual, even with him; the only times she ever confided in him was when he had pushed her, and  _never_ on her own initiative.

He wanted to pursue his question further, but he had the feeling that he might not like the answer, so he decided to drop it for now. "If you ask, I'll punch him for you."

She smiled slightly, a little wider, a little warmer. "You realize that  _I_ punched  _him_ for  _you_ when he was being an ass to  _Rachel_ , remember?"

He shrugged, unable to avoid chuckling. "Well, you've always been more of a boy than I am." She stuck her tongue out at him and he returned the favor by pulling a face. She laughed and winced immediately, rubbing her throat. He jerked his chin, throwing his head to the side. "Maybe you should get sleep? At least lay down over something that isn't a book."

She bit her lip. "I shouldn't. You need as many eyes and minds to read these books as possible."

"I can use your eyes or your mind if you don't take care of yourself first, Reyna." He kept his voice measured carefully so it wouldn't sound too cajoling; if she felt like he was trying to  _tell_ her what to do, she would just go and do the flat out opposite. And he didn't want to  _order_ her to bedrest if he could help it at all costs—She would give him the cold shoulder for a  _month._

A frustrated look entered her eyes as she pushed her chair back. Its legs scraped against the ground with a teeth-grating  _screech._ She marched over to one of the subsellium, gave him a nasty glare that might have made him think twice about something a couple of years ago, and laid across it, curling one of her arms under her head. Her body was tense, and he noticed an odd shiver racked her form.

Well, he would take what he could get.

With a sigh, he unhooked the clasp on his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. He'll warm up once he starts carrying those books around anyway. Hopefully, it'll warm up later. Even if it didn't, he could just get another cloak.

"Thanks," she said, adjusting it so that it curled underneath her shoulders and bunched around her neck. He smiled slightly and turned, grabbing the set of keys the librarian had hidden behind a brick in the wall.

His eyes were drawn to the stained glass depiction of a man and a woman again. He wasn't sure if it was because they were both naked or if it was because of their identical expressions of pain, but he couldn't help but study the strange piece of art. Their limbs were contorted and tangled together, like their bodies had been sewn together with thread and needle. The woman's pale back was arched as she curved around the man and the man curled around her, his fingers tangled with hers. They could have been lovers or enemies, circling around each other in some kind of eternal dance.

It was a strange picture for a place like this. There was something about their expressions that looked like they were being tortured with something they couldn't have.

He might be just reading into it too much.

Shaking his head, he tore his eyes away from it. The others were similar: depictions of the Egyptian Moses parting the sea with the help of whichever god had taken favor, of Zeus and Hera ruling over the gods with their  _infinite_ generosity, of Odysseus fighting sea monsters to get home, the Trojan Horse being wheeled into Troy, the Greek-Persian sea battle, when the weak, puny Roman  _populus_  drove the mighty, warlike Gauls out of their tiny city…

Time passed slowly as Percy pulled book after book out of the vaults. He was used to physical activity, he was one of the best swordsmen, but this worked different muscles than swinging a sword around. Sweat clung to the back of his neck and his crown despite the chill, and he knew that he would have taken his cloak off eventually anyway. It was hard, draining labor—the kind that made you focus on what you were doing until your thoughts were muddled in the back of your head.

"Salve?" a hesitant voice startled him, and he dropped one of the older books off the top of his stack. He nearly snapped at the offender, but he was too out of breath, so he settled for a glare he had learned from one of the wolves his pere kept as pets. The man –  _boy? His face was rather round, though his body was too developed to belong to a boy –_ curled his shoulders inward slightly. "Sorry," he stooped and picked the book up. "I didn't mean to startle you, uh…"

Percy softened his glare into Reyna's level. "Try not to pay attention, okay? These are priceless and my pater would skin me alive if one of these got damaged."

"So would your wife," Annabeth added, coming around a corner. She kissed the corner of his mouth and smiled at him, and directed another – slightly different from the one she usually gifted him with – at the boy-man. He wondered where she had come from, and why she wasn't wearing a cloak when it was still really cold out. "Down that right?" she pointed and he nodded mutely. "I saw the ones you were piling by the table."

"Don't take more than three!" he called to her retreating back, finding his voice again. She waved at him absentmindedly, and he hoped she heard him. Probably already thinking about their contents. The boy-man shuffled, still looking unsure, and he studied him. Rather timid, but polite even if he didn't pay attention very well.

"I assume you are Heir Apparent Perseus."

Or maybe he did have enough spine to look him in the eye and was observant enough to connect the dots with a line.

"You assume correctly," he said. "Are you Praetor Jason's friend?"

He nodded. "I'm Frank Zhang."  _A last name? How odd._  I _don't even have a last name._ "Put me to work, sire."

No nonsense too. "Follow me. As I told Annabeth, these books are priceless, and they're old. I'm not sure we'll be able to read the characters on some of the Egyptian ones; the ink is faded in several areas and the papyrus is brittle. Don't take so many that you'll drop one or two—It's better to take it in two trips." He placed his stack on top of another and dusted his hands off. Frank nodded, showing he understood.

Between the three of them, they managed to get the rest of the books out before midmorning. At some point, Reyna joined them, not looking quite as tired but Percy still wished she had slept longer. His stomach was growling as he stretched, trying to pop his aching muscles enough to get them to stop feeling uncomfortable. Annabeth sat down in the middle of a pile and immediately plucked the tome off the top.

"You need to eat," he said, wondering if this was going to get him anywhere. Annabeth gestured around the room vaguely. Probably not then; when she got like this she flat out refused to move. Sometimes, she didn't even hear him.

"Eat enough for me. I'm feeding on words."

"You can't eat paper, love."

She smiled, but didn't look up. "I'll eat later, Percy. Besides, there was food out so I ate some of that. I'm really not hungry."

He wanted to say something along the lines of  _eating sweets does not count as a nourishing breakfast,_ but there was no way she was going to listen to him. He'll just have to make her eat lunch later, even if he had to throw her over his shoulder and yank whatever book she was going through.

"Fine," he submitted a little unhappily. Her smile widened as she turned the page.

The floor creaked. Percy looked over his shoulder and saw Jason stumble into the cluttered work area. Something about his state made him feel uneasy. He did  _not_ look well at all. There were dark, black bruises underneath his eyes that contrasted sharply against his pale skin. Actually, his skin shouldn't be so pale it was almost gray…

"Jason? Are you okay?" Reyna asked, standing up and moving forward. Jason shook his head slowly, and then he nodded quickly. It was almost like he was drunk, but that was impossible because he stayed away from alcohol like it was the plague – anything addicting, really. Percy looked at Frank who offered him a shrug in return, concern visible in the man's knitted eyebrows.

"You look like you wrestled with a horse and lost," Percy decided to say bluntly. That should rouse a reaction out of him; if there was anything he hated, it was exaggeration. Jason lifted his head and blinked at him owlishly, but did not respond otherwise. Okay. Maybe he was ill?

_... Is disorientation a symptom of this plague?_

"I'm fine," Jason said, making a visible effort to straighten. His arms automatically lifted as he took half a step forward when he swayed slightly, but the poisonous glare directed at him stalled Percy. He didn't want help. "I just need to wake up."  _I'm not weak._

Percy wanted nothing more than to drag him to the physician's wing. Even when you were just waking up, you did not  _sway_ like that. Even if it was nothing and just a case of lack of sleep, he would rather be cautious and deal with the teasing that came in the aftermath than sorry he had missed something.

He exchanged a look with Reyna. She seemed skeptical.

Maybe, if he just gets worse, he'll take him up to Gaius… He could keep an eye on Jason down here.

"Okay," he drawled, and Jason gave him a sort of pained smile—A grimace, really. "We were pulling ancient texts out of the archives." He gave him a wry, teasing smile. "Those should wake you up. Annabeth finds them  _stimulating._ "

"They are. There's something here about a disease that eats your insides away."

"See? Blood and guts. Exciting."

Instead of responding with a sarcastic comment, Jason doubled over into a coughing fit. Jumping forward, Percy caught him before he could topple over, and would have come down with him if Reyna hadn't grabbed his other side to steady him. The way those coughs seemed to shake his entire body, coming from deep inside his chest… he was definitely ill.

"I'll get Medicus Gaius!" Annabeth said. She brushed past him, but Percy barely noticed as he was focused on Jason who was shaking his head.

"N-no, I'-I-  _fine_ —" he said between coughing fits. Something red on Reyna's toga caught his eye – she was directly in front of him, supporting him – and he could see the panic in her eyes – so he didn't considered bringing it to her attention. Not yet; she didn't scare easily but he was sure this might cause her to panic and he _needed_ her to think straight.

 _He's coughing up blood. He's coughing up_ blood.

Yes. He was definitely  _fine._

Jason glared at him, like he knew exactly what Percy was thinking, like he wanted to saying something about it but he couldn't – and then his eyes widened fractionally. His knees knocked together and then his feet seemed to  _slip._ Unfortunately, neither of them were expecting him to fall over like that, so they weren't prepared. Reyna hit the back of her head against a bookshelf as she crashed with him, and Percy nearly tripped over his suddenly prone form as he attempted to catch it.

"What's going on with him?" Reyna's voice was small, and her eyes were dilated–  _She has a concussion, dammit._ Frank slid between her and Jason, hopefully blocking her view, and he pressed the back of his hand against his forehead. Almost immediately, he swore under his breath.

"He's burning up!" Frank tugged his hand into his lap and pressed his fingers lightly against the inside of his wrist; he must be looking for a pulse. "Jason? Can you hear me?"

Jason didn't respond to him. His lidded gaze was distant, eyes bright but unresponsive, and Frank grimaced. He looked up at Percy.

"Has he been complaining of anything? Aches? Stomach pains? Vomiting?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. But it's not in his nature to worry people either, so he might have been experienced those but kept his mouth shut. Especially now."

"Is there something I can do to help?" Reyna asked, her voice a little stronger. Frank hesitated and then he nodded.

"Go down to the well and get some water, please? It'll help to bring his fever down."

By the time she got down there and back, Gaius would hopefully be here. But he understood what Frank was doing—trying to keep her distracted so that she couldn't panic. She probably knew it too, despite that concussion. She nodded and slipped away.

"You know she has a concussion?" he asked, and Frank nodded.

"It's mild, I think. Besides, I could feel her despair. I didn't want her to focus on that."  _Feel her despair?_ That was an odd choice of word, though it was probably nothing.

"What about me?"

Frank smiled humorlessly. "I think we both know you're too used to feeling useless to panic about it." That was… a bit too close to home. Normally, he hid that from everyone. Percy scowled at him, and Frank shrugged. "You're a prince, sire. It comes with the territory."

He nodded. "How bad is he? I have no medical training."

Frank frowned slightly. "My wife, Hazel, would know more—her father was a physician and she used to follow him on his rounds. I just did what she does whenever someone is ill, but I have no idea how to interpret it."

So, they  _were_ useless. There was nothing they could do at the moment.

Gods, he  _hated_ feeling helpless.


	41. Caput XLI: Glimpsing Eternity

_"_ _There are dark shadows on earth, but its lights are strong in the contrast."_ – Charles Dickens

Caput XLI: Glimpsing Eternity

**ANNABETH**  was a godsend. Percy wasn't entirely sure how she had gotten Medicus Gaius to move so quickly when he had so many patients that he needed to tend to, but whatever it was that she had done or said, it had worked. Some of the nurses crowded around Jason, their backs blocking him from his sight, and he did his best to stay out of their way.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know what was going on anyway.

Soon, a stretcher was being brought inside. He barely saw what was being done or said. It was all a blur of movement as he kept perfectly still. It had been just this morning that he had been trying to find what was the origins of this plague and how to cure it. Now…

First Rachel, and now Jason. They were all too young for this stuff to happen to them. He knew men and women died every day, but they were usually in their thirties or forties, or they were infants. But this… Jason was a year younger than he was. He'd only seen his twenty-second Spring. To think that he might not see his twenty-second Winter…

No, he couldn't think like that. If he did, then he would be giving up, and Jason would be as good as dead. And he wasn't about to give up on him like that. He'd spent too many years alternatively judging or pitying him to let him go without a fight. Gods,  _Rachel_ had spent too much time fighting with him and goading him into seeing the just, honorable man who had only needed someone to show him there had been a way  _out_ of that pit of Hell he had descended into.

There was no way Jason was going to die. He wouldn't allow it.

Except… he couldn't really order something that something that wouldn't listen. This world was a harsh, demanding reality that took and took all that was given and never gave back—

No, that was unfair. He had known Rachel, and if she hadn't died, then he wouldn't have known Annabeth. If he hadn't known Rachel, he wouldn't have found Jason. IF he hadn't known Jason, then he would still be that arrogant, naïve, selfish  _child_ who thought he had known everything about the world there was to know.

The world gave back. Or maybe it was the Fates, or the gods, or luck, or even just coincidence. There was something or someone else out there that he didn't know of or believed in that led him to the people he needed to know at the time he needed to know them.

It was just hard to find the beauty in all the ugly things if you didn't look for it.

Reyna was standing in front him quite suddenly. The bibliotheca completely silent in the wake of the aftermath of Jason's collapse. He hadn't even realized he was still sitting on the ground, or that everyone else had left him there. Either they had been so focused on Jason that they had forgotten he was there, or they had tried to rouse him into following them and, failing that, had decided to leave him alone to come back to earth on his own.

Her hands trembled when she reached up and roughly scrubbed at her cheeks, but tears kept slipping out of her eyes and dripped off her chin. It scared him. Reyna hadn't even wept at Rachel's funeral.  _He_ had been the one who had broken down and she had been the one to hold him. It had always been that way with her. Showing weakness to him was something she had refused to do. It wasn't even considered.

"Reyna…?" he croaked. The sound of his own hoarse voice moved him into standing onto his feet. She seemed to curl inward, her shoulders cringing together even though her armor normally restricted that kind of movement. He took her hand and led her to the bench. His cloak was still laid across it like a blanket, so he pulled it off before they sat and draped it over her shoulders.

She sniffled as she rubbed the base of her palm underneath her eyes, and it alarmed him how childlike the gesture was. What was he supposed to do? Was there a tome on how to comfort crying girls somewhere?

Eventually, he just repeated her name, hoping it would prompt her into talking. Anguish was written in every feature from the pitch of her eyebrow and the way her bottom lip trembled. She shook her head, and he said softly, "You know you can talk to me, right?"

She took a deep shuddering breath and nodded. "Yes." She played with the sleeves of his cloak for a moment, twisting it around her fingers, not quite meeting his eyes. He wondered if she believed that. "I can't lose him too," she confessed. The words tripped over each other and were spoken like they were one long word instead of a full sentence. Her shoulders had begun to shake. "I  _can't._ He's my best friend, my rock. When Rachel died… that was bad enough. I can't  _go through_ that again."

Words failed him. They fizzled up in his throat and died away. So he reached out and pulled her against him, wrapping an arm across her trembling shoulders. A sob caught in the back of her throat, and he stayed still.

"I know," he said simply. "I can't either."

He wasn't quite sure how long they sat like that. She didn't cry loudly – The only reason how he knew she was still upset was because she hadn't pushed him away. Eventually, she sat up and cleared her throat. Her eyes were a little red, but that could be passed off as exhaustion. Her back straightened, but she was playing with the bracelet Rachel had made her years ago and she still wasn't quite meeting his eyes.

"Sorry. I think this concussion is messing my emotions up."

He frowned. "What on earth are you sorry for?" He bumped her with his shoulder, but accidentally pushed her a little too hard since she nearly lost her balance. She shoved her shoulder against his side, and he groaned because armor and ribs did  _not_ mix together well. At all. "Ow…"

"Baby." She stood up and threw his cloak at his head. He whacked it away from his face. It fluttered pitifully to the ground. "You coming with me?"

So, it was the pretend-nothing-happened tactic then. He knew her well enough that he was positive she was talking about Jason. He swung his cloak over his shoulders and clasped it together. "Yes."

She led him through the less crowded sections of the city toward the servant's entrance of the palace, and he followed her, carefully keeping his sword and face hidden. If she was keeping to the lesser known parts of the city, then it meant that there might be unrest within the populus. He'd thought it was safe to wander the streets alone earlier, but once word had spread of Jason's collapse…

Just the idea made him shudder.

"Percy?"

A boy, whose face was too thin and streaked with dirt, was digging through the discarded vegetables that the servants threw into a composing enclosure. When the child made a sound of triumph, he was vividly reminded of how Jason used to dig through the food the patricii made their servithrow out so that they couldn't eat the food themselves, because it wasn't meant to be tasted by them.

"PUER!" he heard someone shout, and the boy jumped. A heavyset man lumbered out the door and said something in rapid fire Latin that Percy couldn't catch it, but he saw the way the boy cringed inward. The man's hand slapped the boy across his face, and Percy had taken two steps toward them when Reyna caught his arm in a vicelike grip and shook her head at him.

"If you get involved, you'll probably have to arrest him. I'd rather him be a gutter rat than rotting away in the dungeons having gods only know what done to him."

Percy could imagine the second scenario only too well. The justice system wasn't kind to petty thieves. Anywhere from a slow starvation to rape was fair game when it came to the guards; the criminals didn't need protection from those who were always just and on the  _right_ side of the law.

He turned away, gritted his teeth, and forced himself to move forward. "I hate this," he muttered to her, pitching his voice so that only she would hear him. "The first thing I'm going to do as Caesar is to rewrite the laws regarding theft. And then I'm going to weed out the guards."

"Careful about what you say. Some might consider that to be treason and you can't rewrite the laws if  _you're_  inprison yourself." Her tone was neutral, and he remembered a heartbeat later that her first loyalty had to be to his pater. He had no doubt that if it was Jason, who had never disguised how little he cared for Octavius Caesar, he'd laugh and ask him when he could stage a rebellion. But while Jason was loyal to him and only to him, Reyna was loyal to Roma first, and him second.

He swallowed. Jason. Jason came first. "Sorry. What were you going to say? Earlier?"

"Thank you." She was looking into the distance, very obviously  _not_ looking at him. She quickened her pace while he slowed down slightly, until she was ahead of him by several paces.

Ignored, but not unacknowledged then.

* * *

_I can't believe this._

"So, it is the plague then." When Medicus Gaius nodded, Percy took a deep breath and very carefully pushed his panic away and locked it into the box for later. Roma needed a leader right now, and gods only know what his pater was doing. The populus  _would_ panic whenever word got out. And he needed to keep a level head because this was no longer a bad illness, it was beginning to verge on a crisis.

"Your wife is a truly remarkable person. She sprinted all the way here and she was still able to tell us what happened clearly without even needing a few moments to recollect herself. You got lucky."

He smiled slightly. "I know. Is she okay?"

"I told her to go to your chambers to rehydrate and sleep after they brought Praetor Jason in."

"Okay. May I see him?"

Medicus Gaius hesitated. They both knew that he was only asking out of politeness; if he wanted to, he could go in without his permission. However, Medicus Gaius also knew that he wasn't like that – hadn't been for a very long time. If he said no, then he would respect that.

At least, Percy thought Medicus Gaius knew that.

"Not for long. I'd like to check your health before you jump headfirst back into this mess. Gods know I can't stop you from overworking yourself."

At least the good Medicus understood him well enough to know that to try to stop him wouldn't accomplish anything. He stood up, made his way to the door that led to another, more private, chamber, and pushed it open. Jason was awake, propped up against the headboard, askew glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose as he read a book.

Workaholics. The lot of them were workaholics.

He closed the door behind him, making sure it wasn't loud enough to alert him. Now that he was closer, he could see the slight sheen of sweat coating his face and the way his eyes were too bright. He shook his head, though he couldn't quite stop himself from smiling, and reached over to take the glasses from him. Jason blinked and looked up at him slowly, and Percy sat down on the edge of the bed. Normally, his reflexes were quicker than this. He'd have stopped him from stealing his glasses at the very least, but this time he didn't even fight him.

It was unsettling, to say the least.

"I'm sure Gaius didn't approve of this." He gestured toward the book with the glasses. Jason shrugged, and then a pained expression crossed his face, and he stilled carefully.

"Yeah, well…" He cleared his throat. "I'm sick, not useless."

"Sick? Definitely. Useful? Never." He smiled to soften his words and then dropped it. "Seriously, Jason, you need to stop it and rest. You look terrible." He swallowed. Jason laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a series of hacking coughs.

"I can't believe you're telling me to take a break," he rasped, leaning back against the pillows. His eyes were half lidded already, and the dark circles underneath them were too deep to be recent. Had there been something keeping him up at night?

"Sleeping takes work too," he said, forcing himself to chuckle. "I'm not doing this to be kind. You'll have plenty of work to catch back up with."

Jason smiled. "Slave driver," he accused, his voice light. He almost looked like a child fighting being put to sleep by his pater, with the way the bed seemed to swallow him whole and that brightness in his half closed eyes. It was an illusion, of course. And not even one that could be remotely possible. Jason hadn't had a peaceful childhood.

"I'm a terrible person," he whispered, the smile slipping. Percy studied him, taking in the hunch in his shoulders and the way he looked so tired.

"You are," he agreed, because saying 'you're a good person' never worked with him whenever he got like this. Jason frowned.

"Thanks."

"But only as terrible as I am."

Usually, this was where Jason would laugh at him and say something along the lines of  _I see your point._ This time, he shook his head slightly. "No, you're not a terrible person. Not at all, Percy."

Usually, but not always. There were instances when he got into the spiral of self-hatred that he and Reyna would occasionally have to kick him out of. Before, it had been Rachel, because she'd been closest to him and the one who knew how to stun people into silence one way or another. "We both know that's not true. I'm as human as you are and the next person is. It wasn't  _me_ who wanted to help you originally, remember? I was all for leaving you."

And that was all it ever took to convince him. But there was something so impossibly ancient about Jason's eyes this time, and Percy was suddenly reminded that he had seen things and lived through things that he couldn't possibly imagination. It was one of the reasons why he relied on him so much. His sense of right and wrong was more clear cut than his and Reyna's, who had been around politics all their lives and were used to looking behind motivations or using fancy words or even flat out lying if the situation called for it.

"You were scared of me. People like me." he said softly. "I think you still are, sometimes. To be honest, I am too. But I know that your compassion is stronger than your fear, and it fuels your bravery."

It was a nice thing to say; he was sure it wouldn't be something Jason normally tell him. He still didn't quite understand that fierce, fierce devotion toward him, or how he had been the one the receive it and not Rachel or Reyna. He'd been the one who had tried to walk out on him so many times.

"Perseus." Jason's voice was startling clear, and that combined with his real name (seriously, Jason never called him by his name), made him meet his eyes. "Promise me you'll always remember. You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

He couldn't find his voice, so he nodded. There were so many things he didn't understand about Jason. Yes, he had realized over time that he probably never would, but it still frustrated him at times. Why was he so loyal to him, and only to him? He didn't care much for Roma, the country itself, which might have seemed like treason to some people, but there were things in Jason's past that Percy only had vague details of, things that had to do with the soldiers and how he had turned to drugs. Details he had never wanted because he didn't have the luxury of hatred toward them. And forget his pater. He and Reyna had realized quickly it was better to keep them away from each other.

"Good." Jason sighed. He didn't say anything, and Percy thought that he might be about to go to sleep, so he stood up and placed his glasses on the nightstand. When he tried to leave, Jason grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down.

"What?" he asked. "Jason, you need to  _sleep._ "

"I…" There was some kind of vulnerability in his voice that caught Percy off guard. He stayed silent, and watched him. "Percy, I really,  _really_ don't want to die like this."

Something caught in his throat. His eyes burned and he forced them back. Gods, no. He was  _not_ going to cry here. He'd never let him live it down. "Then, for Jupiter's sake, don't. That's an order. I already lost Rachel, and I'm not going to lose my best friend too."

"I thought that was Reyna?"

He raised an eyebrow. "She'd never agree to my mad schemes. Who's going to stage a rebellion for me? Rachel might've just because she could, but she's dead. Reyna would probably stab me in the foot if I suggested it to her."

Jason laughed weakly. "Annabeth?"

"Too busy subverting my pater through more… diplomatic means."

"I suppose you have a point." He let out a long suffering sigh like he couldn't believe he was so useless on his own. "Wait, you're usually trying to convince me not to start a rebellion. Did something happen?"

He shrugged. "Just something I saw earlier. I wasn't able to do anything about it." He was the Heir Apparent of Roma, but anything he did that went against his pater… He didn't want to be known as the Caesar who stole his pater's throne. "Not yet anyway."

There was something soft in Jason's eyes. "That's why I believe in you. I don't think I've ever met someone so kind."

_Kindness? How was what I did earlier kindness?_

He smiled, and stood again. "Get some sleep, please. You're getting incoherent."

Jason snorted. "Hah! You're the only incoherent one here!"

When he closed the door behind him, he listened for a while to see if Jason would eventually start making that weird snorting-pig sound that he was pretty sure was snoring. Unfortunately, Medicus Gaius came up to him and crooked one finger in a  _come, follow me_ gesture that Percy was almost certain he wouldn't be able to disobey, if he tried.

* * *

It didn't take long for the whispers to start. First, it began with things like, "Is Praetor Jason really sick?" and once that had been confirmed, the people began to wonder if they had done something wrong, if the gods had cursed them.

Percy wished he had an answer for them. He half wished he was able to  _not_ believe in the gods because he himself was starting to wonder if somebody had done something to infuriate Apollo enough to cause a plague. They certainly weren't answering the prayers the Pontifex Maximus led the priests and people in. And there was no miracle staring at him right in front of his eyes to save them.

Unless, of course, it had been encoded in this paragraph he had read through at least five times so well that it was impossible to crack. That  _would_ take a miracle. Maybe he should see about having somebody look at this section, just in case there was something there—

Two strong, familiar hands tugged the book from his hands. It thumped against the bed, and it was surprising to Percy. He was half convinced Annabeth considered any form of disrespect toward books as sacrilegious.

"You," she said, taking his hands, "need a distraction."

He stared at her, several ideas of distractions bouncing in his head, all of which he  _knew_  were not what she meant. She threaded her fingers through his and placed her hand on her hip.

So, dancing.

"You know I'm terrible at dancing, right?"

"Good. So am I." She smiled at him, and he smiled back. His fingers were sweating slightly and his heart was pounding as he pulled her slightly closer, which was ridiculous because he had been far more intimate with her when they were training. Apparently, though, dancing was an entirely different form of intimacy that was able to make him feel nervous.

That was a first.

"There's no music," he felt obliged to say, though he had begun to sway ever so slightly. She raised an eyebrow.

"So? Who said you needed music to dance?"

"Society?" he suggested. He spun her around and pulled her close to him, before he took half a step into her personal space. She stepped away, and he started to count inside his head to keep the steps straight,  _one two three four, one two three four_ as he slipped into an old dance. "Tradition?"

"Who cares about that?" She grinned up at him, and with the way her eyes sparkled, he found himself smiling back. Impulsively, he leaned forward and stole a kiss from her. She turned the tables and dipped him into a bow. He yelped as he felt his center of gravity shift and held the back of her neck automatically before he realized what she had done.

He blinked up at her. Her face was perfectly straight, but the way her eyes seemed to twinkle madly told him she found this situation completely amusing.

"See? Tradition is ridiculous."

Of course, she then proceeded to trip over something (he didn't know  _how_ because they were  _standing still_ ) and dropped him. He barely had time to catch himself before she sprawled all over his lap. For a moment, he just stayed like that, a little stunned.

"Ow," she groaned, reaching over to rub her right elbow.

He didn't even bother trying to keep himself from laughing. " _You're_ ridiculous."

"I know. But you're just as much as I am."

Sometimes, just sometimes, he thought he could catch a glimpse of eternity during moments like this. Granted, it wasn't easy most of the time, and the struggle was certainly brutal at times, but these were the moments that he cherished the most.

Even if his body was secretly plotting against him.

He rolled her off him before she could feel anything (if she hadn't already), but just as quickly, he settled on his knees and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He closed his eyes and smiled against her neck, feeling something inside of him settle.

He hadn't realized how much he had needed this. There were so many things that was wrong with this world; children shouldn't have to go hungry, people shouldn't die when they still had the rest of their lives ahead of them to live. But there were people who did care for him enough to tell when he was fine and when he needed to be distracted.

He brushed a kiss against her neck, and her arms tightened around him. "You make me smile so much when you're not being infuriating," he said softly. Her head fell to the side, so he pressed his lips there too and trailed a line up to her neck before he pressed another against her lips. "You know that, right?"

"Of course. I wouldn't put up with you otherwise." She smiled at him, and he shook his head at her. Her smile faded and her expression dimmed without it. Her eyes were downcast. "I still wish…" Her fingers brushed up and down his arm, and he knew what she was talking about without needing her to explain.

"Doesn't matter. I believe you told me the truth, understand?" He trailed his fingers down her arms and intertwined their fingers again. "Everything else doesn't matter."

She hesitated, and then she nodded. He smiled at her.

"Besides, we might have gotten lucky in the long run. My pater's not really observant, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to be showing at six months…"

She snorted. "Definitely."

He paused for a moment. It had been something he had been contemplating on and off lately, but it had been something that he needed to talk to her about. "Actually, about babies…" She was watching him with that slightly maddening tilt of her head. He played with her fingers. "Do you… I mean, not now, I guess, but eventually…?"

He knew she had already said she had, but there were differences between saying it right after practically coming back to life (to her perspective) and saying it when she was calm. And rational.

"Do I want children?" Her voice was gentle as her fingers grabbed his and stopped them from fidgeting. He nodded. She smiled slightly. "Of course. To be more specific, I want to have children with you."

He shivered. That was… he liked the sound of that. He  _liked_ the idea of eventually being a father. No, it was more than that. He longed to be able to watch a child,  _his_ and  _Annabeth's_ child, or children, grow from infants to adults. He couldn't quite explain it in words, but it was a feeling that was something deep inside of him and primal.

"I'm not particularly concerned with the when. Honestly, I wouldn't mind if we start trying _now._ "

She winked at him. He spluttered over a laugh as he complained, "Annabeth!"

"But I honestly don't really care about the timing. I'd rather have a baby sooner rather than later, but I'm still young. I have time, so it's not like we have to rush into anything."

He exhaled slowly, and pulled her against him. "I know how you feel. I just…"

She twisted her head back and pressed a kiss against his chin. "I understand. I felt the same way, remember? It's okay."

He shook his head at her slightly. "Still don't understand how you flipped from being terrified to the idea of making love to being the one more interested."

"Death puts a different perspective on things. On, in this case, apparent death."

He sighed. "Tell me about it."

They fell silent for a while, and he just allowed himself to relax in her solid presence. Occasionally, she would shift or fidget, disturbing him, but she was, more or less, still.

These kinds of things took work. A lot of work. But it was worth it in the end.

"How are you feeling now?" There was genuine concern in her eyes, and it always managed to surprise him for some reason how easy it was for him to read her. But, on the flipside, it seemed like he was easy for her to read.

He smiled slightly, though worry still gnawed at him and the carefully tamed despair lurked in the corners of his mind where he  _refused_ to acknowledge it. "Better. Thank you."


	42. Caput XLII: The Puzzle Pieces

_"Either you decide to stay in the shallow end of the pool, or you go out in the ocean." – Christopher Recue_

Caput XLII: The Puzzle Pieces

**WARM,** early morning sunlight filtered through the linen draperies that were meant to block the harsh heat of the afternoon. The birds sang their melodies, their voices harmonizing and pitching in perfect cacophony. The streets bustled with the early rising servants and plebeians moving about, preparing to tackle the mob that was the midday market during a State of Emergency.

If he was a morning person, he might have enjoyed lounging in bed, listening to the sounds of life. Even though there was a plague taking men and women and children, plebeian or patrician, left and right, there was still movement in his city.

Percy was not a morning person.

He glared at the drapes, somewhat wishing he had the ability to douse them with water or set them on fire or something by his will power alone. A part of him wanted to strangle the birds. But, here was the worst offense of all: Annabeth the snoring starfish had stolen his side of the bed. With his blankets. And she was the one who always, somehow,  _miraculously,_ woke up bright eyed and bushytailed before Apollo dragged his scrawny  _podex_ into his chariot to pull the sun over the ocean.

And it was all Grover's fault.

The faun was worrying his bottom lip even as he (quite bravely, Percy understood) repeatedly poked his shoulder, rousing him from his glorious state of slumber. With a groan, he attempted to borrow back underneath the sheets, half tempted to gesture rudely at his companion. It would be warranted. But it would be unbecoming of the future Caesar. And Reyna would disapprove of that. But Jason would try to egg him on. Annabeth would probably be disapproving to save her face and then she would covertly encourage him.

But the only way to get rid of him so that he could get back to sleep was to tell him to explain why he was waking him up at some gods' forsaken hour in the morning.

"What?" he snapped. Grover ignored his tone out of long habit. Thank the gods he had found someone calm enough to not take his morning moods personally. Or perhaps he had been desensitized over time?

"Sorry, sire. I wouldn't bother you if it's not important. I know that you don't like waking up early. And normally Lady Annabeth is awake, so usually she handles it if it's urgent, but she's sleeping and she probably needs it because she's usually awake before I'm here. So I decided to wake you up. Plus he said to tell you directly. Which meant I probably wouldn't have been able to tell Lady Annabeth."

Probably desensitized. Grover was nervous and jumpy by nature.

"Grover," he tried to say nicely and patiently. "You're rambling. I can't translate rambling this early in the morning."

 _You need to cut back on the sarcasm,_ he heard Reyna sniff mentally.

 _It's too early in the morning to have to deal with society without an abundance of sarcasm,_ he told the Reyna-voice.

 _You need to stop talking to yourself in your head,_ either Jason or Annabeth warned.

"The Caesar wants to talk to you. Immediately."

For a moment, Percy wasn't entirely sure he had heard correctly. And then he wasn't sure if his ears were lying to him. It wasn't uncommon for his pater to talk to him, but it was usually during midday. When the sun was high above the clouds and the sky was blue. Not pinkish-reddish black. Unless it was night time, but then the stars and the moon was out.

This was a first.

"You're joking."

"Does it look like I'm joking?" Grover pointed at his flat face, and Percy admired the sudden bravery for a moment. "Besides, waking you up in the morning is not something I enjoy doing without a good reason."

Apparently, Grover was testy about waking Percy this early too. With a loud groan, he threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up.

"Wha'?" Annabeth asked, her voice hoarse from sleep and muffled into her pillow. "Percy, why're'ou up?"

"My pater has had a temporary bout of madness." He paused, and then he grabbed his pillow, stuffing it into her arms. Like that plant he found when he was a boy that closed around bugs, she snapped her arms close around it. He raised an eyebrow at the way she started hogging his stuff. She better not go about stealing his pillows next. That was just greedy. Wars were started over lesser things. "Go back to snoring the morning away, love."

"I will hit you for that later." She suddenly sounded much more alert, but she relaxed back into the mattress that she stole, so he figured she was going to go back to sleep. Turning back to Grover, he shooed him away with his hands.

"But your clothes—!"

"I'll be fine. It's not like he expects me in ceremonial clothing." It was too early in the morning for anything that required so many different layers. Hopefully. "…Right?"

Grover pointed at him with an angry finger and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. Probably insulting. His face turned a little red with the strain of keeping inside of him – it surprised Percy a little, usually he was much more mild tempered – but he snapped his jaw shut with a click of his teeth scraping together. He turned and walked away, his back rigid though his brown hooves didn't make a sound against the squeaky floors as he strode out, probably out of consideration for Annabeth.

"It's only gotten worse … never let me do my job …"

He didn't think he was supposed to hear that. With a laugh, though he was mindful to keep it quiet, he grabbed the toga Grover  _had_ laid out earlier (or perhaps it was Annabeth's maid?), stripped out of his sleeping clothes and pulled it over his shoulders.

"Percy!" Annabeth sounded startled (somewhat belatedly), and very, very awake, and he jumped. He'd thought she had fallen back asleep. But then she started laughing and was barely able to keep himself from ducking his head. "Nice."

His cheeks burned at her appreciative tone, and he looked at her over his shoulder. He couldn't see clearly in the dim lighting, but he thought she might be smiling.

"Like the show?"

"You're not giving me much to look at."

This time, he tried to duck out before she could embarrass him (more), but she grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down to bed. He caught himself before he could sprawl across her stomach (she was stronger than she looked, but he was also heavier than her), and she blinked up at him.

"Uh…" he said eloquently. He cleared his throat. "Seriously, I have to leave. My pater…"

Understanding made her eyes drop, and she nodded, pushing herself up onto her elbows to brush her lips against his gently over and over. He allowed it until his head started to spin, and he pulled away. She pouted at him—Oh  _gods._

"Annabeth," he groaned, and she laughed. He turned on his heel, and rolled his eyes. "I'm leaving before I give in to any  _more_ temptations."

"I'll be here, waiting." She replied cheekily, startling a laugh out of him as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

Percy stilled at the entrance to the throne room, hesitant to continue further into it. His pater was talking with a woman in hushed, tense voices; about what, he wasn't sure, but he could certainly  _postulate_ a half dozen different reasons ranging from the current state of affairs to her being a jilted lover. The gods know how often he had walked into those kinds of arguments.

He cleared his throat, loud enough that his pater would be able to hear him, but the Caesar didn't acknowledge him. Frowning, he stepped forward, and said, "Pater?"

"Ah, Perseus." His pater and the woman turned, and Percy froze. There was something  _eerie_ about her. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, perhaps it was the strange, purple gown that seemed to  _flow_ like water over the boulders on the North shores of the  _Mare Nostrum._ Somehow, he had the feeling that she wasn't human. "I must to talk to you about this epidemic. You know more about the crisis than I, and the Senate is pressuring me for knowledge."

"Uh. Yes. I thought. Um…"

Good gods. He was the hope and heir of the Roman Empire. He'd been around women all his life; some beautiful, others seductive, and most ugly (in many ways). He should  _not_ be freezing up from being in the presence of this woman like some skittish horse.

He clenched his teeth, forced his feet to move forward, and held his head high.

"I must leave," she said to his pater, and she regally nodded to him, acknowledging his presence for the first time since he had arrived. He caught her gaze before she pressed her lips to his pater's cheek (so not a jilted lover then) and left behind the screen that went off into his pater's private quarters. "Perseus."

… Violet.

Her eyes were violet.

Gods above, this wasn't a human. This woman was perhaps a dryad or demigoddess or  _something;_ only those who were descended from the gods themselves had eyes that were  _different,_ like Jason's ice-blue eyes or Annabeth's storm cloud gray eyes.

"Who was that?" he wondered, and though something like humor sparkled in his pater's eyes, there was something heavy hidden there too. There was a shiftiness about him, as if he were trying to hide something from him—nothing new there. His pater was always hiding something from him and would continue to do so for as long as he might live. He poured himself and his pater a glass of watered down mead and took a sip from his goblet as he offered the second one to the older man. "I haven't seen you quite so taken with a woman since my mater."

"Her name is Nox."

Something about that name… he'd  _heard_ that name before… but where  _from?_

"I did not call you at this gods-forsaken hour in the morning to talk about women, however." His pater took the second goblet from his right hand – his  _less_ dominant hand – and gestured toward the locked area toward the side of the room, where he held private matters that he  _didn't_ want someone to overhear. Percy closed the door behind them. "How many people are dead? What are the chances of finding a cure?"

He pushed the matter of the strange woman to the back of his mind and began to brief his pater, falling into familiar territory, so he allowed his mind to wander down several different paths as his mouth moved out of habit. After that, he made his way to check on those who were ill, checking with Medicus Gaius about the mortality rate. Nobody had died overnight, thank the gods, and Jason was stable for the moment.

He decided to pop in on his friend to check how he was doing, knocking on the door before he pushed it open. Jason's eyes opened slowly, and he blinked at him for a moment before he smiled, probably recognizing him. Or perhaps he hadn't—he was more likely to make a rude gesture at him before he smiled.

"Hi," he said lowly, leaning his hip against the side of the door as he crossed his arms. "You still look terrible."

Jason sat up, rolling his eyes, and Percy noticed how pale he was even though he tried to put up a display of strength. "And you look exhausted. The circles underneath your eyes are ugly."

"Being stuck in bed doesn't suit you."

"It's nice for a couple of days. You don't have bossy heir apparents telling you what to do, you sleep as much as you want, and you get fussed over. I can tell why you like it. Though it is a bit maddening, not being able to get  _out_ of bed when you're awake."

He clapped sarcastically, thrice, before he leaned forward to study him with a frown. "Seriously, take it easy. I have no intention of walking down into the Underworld because you decided to kick the bucket."

"Touching. Your undying loyalty means a lot."

Percy grinned at him, and he opened the door. "No heroics," he commanded, knocking on the wood.

"No promises." Before he closed the door behind him though, Jason called him back, and he looked at him over his shoulder. He held his head high and he looked serious as his eyes roamed over him from head to toe. "You take care of yourself too, Percy. You can't do anything to help Roma if you work yourself into death."

He nodded in acknowledgment. "I always knew you cared."

Grinning at the spluttered denials, he closed the door behind him softly. The grin faded quickly as he took in the people lying ill, and he breathed in through his nose. He appreciated the warning, but there was too much for him to do. He would rest later, when the danger had passed.

So, he went to the public bibliotheca.

* * *

The wax had burned low by the time lithe fingers slid a small platter of grapes across the table. Quickly, her hand withdrew and Annabeth swore under her breath, sticking her third finger into her mouth and sucking on it, her eyebrows pinched together – out of pain, he presumed.

"What? What happened?" He pulled away from the scroll he had been reading, glancing around. Strange, he hadn't even realized he'd been in the palace bibliotheca for so long… there was nobody else here. Annabeth threw herself down next to him, and he was suddenly very aware of her hair tumbling over her bare shoulders and—

He nearly choked over his tongue when he realized her back was bare too.  _What? What? What?_

"I haf a splin'er. You, eat your foo'."

Percy stared at her for a moment, and then he took a grape carefully and bit into it, tasting the tart sweetness on his tongue. There was no way he wasn't going to obey a direct command from her. Especially involving food. He took two more, spit the seeds into his palm, and pushed the platter toward her so that she would eat some too.

"You know, sticking your finger in your mouth is not really a good way to get rid of a splinter." He felt like he had to say, because it was obvious and just the kind of thing she'd miss. She glared at him and pulled it out, waving her hand in front of him.

"A 'thank you, Annabeth, for risking your poor fingers to feed me so that I wouldn't starve myself' would be appreciated." He snorted. She jabbed at him, the bracelet dangling on her wrist clanked against another as she took a grape. "Seriously, I risked my limbs getting this from the cook. I mean, yes, sure, I probably ate enough for a small army this week… but that was because I've been training! And using my brain! Which makes me hungry! She shouldn't glare at me."

He took her hand and tugged it into his lap, squinting at her finger. All he saw was a tiny little black… freckle? He hadn't even noticed she had freckles on her fingers. Seriously, freckles on her  _fingers?_

"And I was trying to get it out with my teeth, thanks. Not my saliva." She gestured with her free hand, the motion sweeping and encompassing. She leaned over and pulled the scroll over, tilting her head to study it. He poked at the freckle, and she winced but didn't react otherwise. So, the splinter was buried underneath the freckle? "So, what's this…?"

"If you can figure out half of what it's saying, I will do whatever you want me to for a week without arguing about it. Much. It's a book of legends. I thought that it might have something in there… not that I'm getting anywhere with it. There's too much ambiguity and…" He thumped his head against the back of the chair, as if that would bring the word to the tip of his tongue. But nothing. "Nothing. I have nothing. It's giving me a headache. This is why I hate piecing mysteries together."

Annabeth raised an eyebrow at him, but then something like understanding crossed her face. She leaned forward, and the hand he was holding loosely wriggled up his arm, fingers clutching his elbow as if she was away he might try to run away. "We'll find a way to save him. All of them."

He sighed. She knew him so well that it was impossible to hide his worries from her—or from himself. "It's just… he was  _worse_ earlier today. Last time I saw him, he was trying to read a tome for cures, the stubborn idiot. This morning he was fine, but when afternoon rolled by and I went to check in on Gaius, he just kept coughing… he didn't even wake up. I hate seeing him look so  _lifeless;_ it brings back bad memories…" Of days spent in withdraw and anger. A different time, really. He felt like a different person now compared to then. "And there's so many people sick…"

"I know," she said softly, still understanding. Her fingers traced over the indentions in the writing. "But dwelling in it like this won't do anything to help them get better."

"I know." he echoed. And he did. He couldn't let his doubts or worries get ahead of him. If they did, then he would be accepting defeat—would mean that he was just going to let them die without doing anything. And he couldn't do that; he'd fight this disease until it took him as well if he must.

He wasn't going to let Jason die. There were things he had to do; he still owed him too much to let him go gently into the night.

"Don't worry. We'll find a way. There's  _always_ a way." There was a quiet confidence in her eyes, and he wished he knew how she was so  _sure_ about this. If he had half of her confidence, he didn't think he would doubt as much as he did. But he nodded, keeping silent, while worries plague him.

They worked together in tandem, the wax on the candle burning lower and lower as the night continued until it went out entirely. Annabeth shifted, and he stood up to rummage around in the cabinets for more candles, a striker, and flint to light them.

"It's strange." She stared at the dancing flame, her arm resting on the edge of the chair, hand draped carelessly over her book, fingers splayed across the pages. She scratched the back of her ear, eyebrows furrowing, and the light cast long shadows on her face. "Something about this plague is…  _strange._ " She wrinkled her nose in distaste and muttered something about repeating words, but it was too low for him to discern completely.

"Of course it's strange. It's an epidemic that's sweeping across the country and is taking gods only know how many lives." Sarcasm was his only defense at hiding how  _terrified_ of this unfightable enemy. All you needed to fight against the Gauls and Celts was a sword and the muscle between your eyes. This, however, came from the gods—not humans. You couldn't fight the gods' will. At least, not that he knew of.

She rolled her eyes, but her expression remained serious. "It's not just that. What I understand of epidemics, there's usually a sign that there could be one; sometimes, you can catch it before it breaks out. But this is… this was sudden. It's not a time of war and Winter hasn't arrived yet."

"Sudden?"

"Yes, like the gods snapped their fingers and created it into existence. Like day turning into night."

Something inside of Percy latched onto that phrase, almost. His mind stuttered to a halt. There was  _something_ there, something,  _something—_ he didn't know— he had to hear that again— "Repeat that," he commanded slowly. Annabeth blinked.

"The gods created this plague into existence?" she repeated, a little hesitantly. "Percy, if you're thinking about marching up Mount Olympus to knock on the doors of the gods, it's not going to work."

"No, no. I'm not stupid; Neptune hates me." He shook his head. "The other part. About the day."

"What, the day turning into the night? Neptune doesn't even  _stay_ up in Olympus except at the Solstices; it's usually Jupiter and Juno, and Hestia, who keeps the hearth going. Why would Neptune hate a mortal like you?"

 _Why would he indeed?_ Neptune was a god, he didn't have time to hate have mere mortals like him. Unless he had a direct connection… but how? Why? His great-uncle, Julius Caesar, was a son of Jupiter, yes, but Percy didn't think Neptune would pay attention to him that much…

Unless…

…His mater was from Greece… and he had an affinity for water—oh,  _gods…_ but she had married his pater when she was young, when she was thirteen or fourteen. Maybe. She'd had him when she was  _sixteen or seventeen;_ he was pretty sure she had a miscarriage somewhere in there… and his pater had had wives before his mother, and they had children—perhaps he was related to Neptune somewhere after all?

(Now that he thought about it, hadn't his pater been orphaned?)

((No, no—He had to switch to a different train of thought. He would drive himself insane over this.))

… Neptune.

Gods…

Like the day turning into the night… night turning into day… Day turning into night.  _Day turning into night._ Gods… Neptune… Nox… Where had he  _heard of her?_

(His brain kicked into gear, clogs whirling too quickly for him to keep up with it, his thoughts kept tripping over  _each other_ —)

_Nox, Nox, Nox. I know I've heard of her. Where from? Gods—_

Gods.

Gods?

He suddenly remembered that stained glass in the bibliotheca, the public one—of the man and woman intertwined.

Violet eyes.

_What human has violet eyes?_

"…Annabeth," he said slowly, her eyes were wide, and he probably looked half mad. "What does nox mean in Greek?"

"It's not Greek," she said slowly. "It's Latin."

"I mean – what's the translation of it." Because this was  _important,_ there was  _something_ inside of him telling him this was important. He used to scoff at  _funny_   _feelings_ because they weren't scientific, when he was young and arrogant, but as he grew older, he couldn't deny that there was some kind of  _sixth sense_ in humans that they were gifted with, to tell when something was  _off,_ like how Jason always knew someone was telling a lie or how Reyna always knew bloodlust was in the air.

(He didn't have feelings like those.)

((Except he  _did;_ he had  _known_ tragedy was going to strike before his mater dried and Rachel had been murdered. His mater had drowned when the sea had reached up and grabbed her with its icy tendrils according to the guards that escaped. He had found Rachel with that  _gods-damned dagger_ in her  _chest._ ))

Annabeth hesitated.

(((This feeling was the same as it had been both of those nights. He'd been  _feeling this feeling_ since Jason had  _collapsed._ He just hadn't been able to put his finger on it until now.)))

"Annabeth?"

The blood drained from her pace, leaving it pale and waxy.

"… It's Nyx."

(This sixth sense only came when the gods were afoot.)

That man and that woman had been clothed in shadows.  _Night. Shadows. Night, night… Nyx… darkness… gods…_

"Oh, gods," he breathed, his chest tight.

"Percy?" Annabeth sounded scared. He stood up, knocking his chair over, and  _bolted_ for the section on the gods and goddesses the Pontifex Maximus had the priests keep stocked in the library, so not to risk the wrath of the gods—knowledge was supposed to be free, after all.

(It was generally frowned upon for an Heir Apparent to run except in times of crisis. This felt like a crisis.)

Gods, gods,  _gods and goddesses…_

"Night," he rasped, half to himself. He yanked down the giant tome, the reference book on the gods themselves (if you could call it that), fumbling with it because his  _elbows_  were  _trembling—_ Why in Jupiter's name were his  _elbows_ trembling?

"What is it?" Annabeth had materialized by his side, warm and solid and brave and terrified all at once _._ "Percy, what is going on? What's happening?  _What did you find out?_ "

"Hunch," he rasped, throat raw, as he flipped through the pages. "I don't know… I have a feeling _…_ "

"A  _feeling_? Hunch?"

"My pater… I think he has a lover… her name is Nox, so she said, but…" He shook his head and met her eyes square on. "You can always know if someone is a demigod by their eyes. They're different from us mortals', Annabeth. Nox… Her eyes weren't human. Not completely."

He didn't think he had to look at this book to confirm his theory.

Lightning flashed and thunder boomed—Jupiter was angry this night. The wind howled and the candles made the shadows twist into something monstrous.

"That's how you knew my mother was Athena."

He nodded. "I always know, Annabeth. I have funny feelings, suspicions… I dreamt of you before I met you."

(He'd forgotten about that until recently.)

"Like an oracle of Delphi..." she breathed, awed. "You could have been an oracle?"

He didn't answer her, too focused on  _his_ own questions.  _Night, night, night. Night and darkness. What in Tartarus am I missing? There's something here, something important –_

Blood seals. Poseidon . . . death chains . . . primordial sea god –  _There was something missing. There was a link between this._

"They're all tied together," he muttered under his breath, to himself. His mind was whirling at a thousand heartbeats and he could barely keep up with it now. His thoughts were spiraling out of control and he could barely keep the ends separate. They connected over and over in a circle, in an eternal cycle, like an Ouroborus. "What do you know about the gods?" Because she would know better than anyone else what they were capable of. He suspected that she was more involved with them than she told him of her own initiative, and he never asked or pressed for details before.

"... I think they can change into any person at will." He tasted something sour on his tongue as he looked at her. She paled abruptly. "Oh, gods.  _Eris … golden apple …_ and Troy and – Oh, my gods –  _Piper._ "

Annabeth lunged for a spare pierce of parchment paper, dipped her quill into ink, and began scratching sloppy, frantic, Roman letters onto her paper, her eyes wide. And he continued to flip through the pages desperately, feeling like he'd been possessed by a bout of sudden madness.  _Night, dark, night, dark, night, dark – There's something here. I'm missing something._

Night, night, night . . .

Something older than the gods… like Khaos …

_Khaos._

(Those dreams suddenly made a little more sense to him, had Khaos been talking to him _? Was he been warning me?_ )

Khaos was a primordial god.

Primordial gods, primordial gods. . .

Protogenoi.

_Protogenoi!_

"Protogenoi!" He breathed. He tore through about fifty pages at once, looking for that section.

_THE PROTOGENOI._

"Percy?" Annabeth sounded frightened, pulling away from her paper. "Percy, we have a problem."

"I know," he ran his finger over the words, ignoring the long-winded paragraphs that explained absolutely nothing and everything at once. It wouldn't surprise him that she had connected the pieces of the puzzle already; she was smarter than him in that way.

_Anace, necessity . . . no . . . Erebos, darkness . . ._

_Nox. Night._

He cursed, not entirely aware of it. His  _pater's mistress was a goddess._ Gods above, of all the bullheaded, stupidest—did his pater even  _know?_ Of course he did, his pater never missed a thing— and everyone  _knew_ you couldn't  _trust the gods!_

"What are they planning to do with  _my_   _country?_ " he snarled. This time, he was trembling from fury instead of fear. Connections formed in his head. This plague was too sudden, unnatural. Perhaps he had missed something—No, he  _knew_ he had missed something. "Is there a god or goddess of poison or disease or  _something?_ "

"Apollo heals diseases and poisons? But I don't think he's behind this; gods tend to reflect their natures and, even though he's an idiot, he's too loyal to Jupiter and Diana to turn his back on them."

"They're doing something…"

"I  _know,_  but  _what_ is it?!" Annabeth sounded anguished as she stood up abruptly and stomped across the room, tugging down more books. Percy ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends of it.

Lightning flashed, and the shadows looked sinister. His heart jumped as thunder boomed, and…

The shadows… were they … moving?

"Annabeth…" he said slowly, suddenly more scared than angry. She whirled around, books in her arms, and he pointed at the writhing mass of darkness. He stood, and the second chair clattered against the ground. That  _wasn't normal_ for shadows. They should be  _still._ They shouldn't  _move like that._ "Do you see what I see?"

Her books slipped out of her arms, which was how Percy knew something was wrong. Suddenly, the shadows formed, and he saw a  _face in them –_ eyes and a grin with  _nothing but teeth,_ and the shadows  _changed_ into tentacles heading …

Directly …

At…

"ANNABETH!" He screamed as he realized:

a) She was closer to the shadow

b) The shadow was going to stab her

He ran – or flew, or  _something,_ he'd never moved so fast in his  _life –_ pushing her out of the way, his mind screaming at him to  _save her._ He had to  _get her out of the way._ She couldn't – oh gods,  _Annabeth._ And the shadow descended  _upon him too fast and…_

The shadows descended, swallowing him whole. A wind came out of nowhere, snuffing the lights out. Pain exploded in him,  _everywhere,_ building and burning and it was filling him from the  _inside out_ and _oh, gods it hurts it burns make it stop it hurts stopit stopstop_ _ **stop**_ and he didn't know how to describe it.

And then there was white.

* * *

"Hello, Perseus."

Percy didn't awaken with a jolt, but he didn't keep his eyes close for a long time either after he became aware of what was going on around him. No, he only opened his eyes and took in his surroundings as his pater had taught him, and then later Jason had drilled into him.

His mind felt discombobulated and jumbled as he looked around this clearing of nothing but green grass and blue skies. A part of him recognized the woman standing in front of him, and he sat up straight, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, somehow knowing that his mortal eyes were not meant to behold her. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders as her white gown swept against the ground.

"Are you… are you Juno?" A nod was his answer when she lifted his chin up so that he had to look at her. He'd never stood in the presence of an Olympian before, and it made him uneasy. No mortal should know the face of an Olympian. (So why did he recognize her?) She was here, standing in front of him, omnipotent, and she didn't seem like she was going to smite him for his arrogance, so he figured it was safe to ask. "What happened, my lady?"

Juno's face was as hard and as unreadable as stone. She gestured for him to walk beside her, and, swallowing, he stood and moved so that he was walking a half-step behind her, all too aware that he was a  _mortal._ Not a demigod, or a faun, or even a nymph. A distant part of him thought that he was dreaming, but this place felt too  _real_ to be a dream.

Eventually, and it could have been a heartbeat or an eternity later, she spoke, her voice level though he knew better than to push her patience.

"You stumbled upon Nox's plan. She got worried and had E—" Her face twisted, as if she were in pain. Before he could do anything though, her expression cleared, and she huffed, suddenly looking remarkably human. So strange… "Her grip is strong, even in this place between Earth and the Underworld."

How could someone be stronger than an Olympian?

"Is she…. Did something happen to the Olympians?" He wasn't exactly sure how he jumped to that conclusion, or  _why_ his brain-to-mouth filter decided to stop working in the presence of an  _Olympian_ for that matter, but it seemed correct answer, and he was  _sure_ that it was, even though he didn't know why. The lines around Juno's eyes tightened and he hoped that she didn't decide to smite him for his impudence.

"Somnus and Achlys have betrayed us, casting their lot with the Protogenoi by somehow binding us to Olympus on the Summer Solstice." So, that was why the gods hadn't been answering their prayers. It didn't explain how he was talking to her  _now,_ of course… "One of Nox's servants detached your soul from your body, which is why we are able to converge here."

That didn't sound pleasant. In fact, it sounded like might cause permanent damage. He wasn't sure if the idea that she was reading his mind sounded even more unpleasant. "… So, we're both basically dead?"

Juno gave him a strange look, as if he had suddenly became someone else in front of her eyes, but she shook her head. "Not yet. He was not aiming for your life force, therefore you did not receive the full curse. If you choose, you may go back."

 _He? So, that_ thing  _was a he?_

"They're planning to do something with my country. There's a plague taking hundreds of lives, but it came so suddenly. That's what made me realize something was going on, then Annabeth and I connected the pieces… though there's something still missing."

"I only know as much as you, if not less."

If he treated her like he talked to his pater, he might be able to get out of this alive. In fact, she might be a little easier to talk to even though she was an Olympian, she he  _wasn't_ related to her. Not really, at least. They were both as blind as each other, but he didn't intend to be led by someone as blind as he was. Even if she was a goddess and could boil his insides if she chose. Maybe he should continue on pretending like he was listening to her and then go back to doing his own thing?

He looked up at the cloudless, sunless, blinding blue sky. "Rome is connected to her plan, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"My people will be hurt."

"Whatever Nox has planned is nefarious for whomever is at the receiving end of it. She betrayed her father, Khaos, once to help the titans overthrow him."

"Then I must leave." As if there was any doubt. There was no way he wanted to stay here with  _her._

"If you go back, you will face misery."

He turned and faced Juno directly. "Nox is planning to do something with my people. I have to find a way to stop her." he stated calmly, addressing her like an equal, pushing the fact that he was talking to the  _queen of the gods_ to the back of his head. Who could cut his tongue out of his mouth if she wanted. She could a lot of things that could cause him harm if she  _so chose._  "If I turn my back on my people, I will have no peace. I'd rather face a life of misery than an eternity of torment."

Juno studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You are an unorthodox hero," she said, almost like she was thinking out loud to herself. "Perhaps Rome has a chance to survive the upcoming storm, with a mind like yours."

"Hero?" He frowned. He never wanted to be a hero. Heroes were the ones who were killed, and he had no intention of dying anytime soon. He had a country he intended to rule one day, and heroics were not part of ruling a country. "I'm not a hero. All I care for is my wife, my family, and my people."

People like Jason and Annabeth were heroes. They were brutally honest, brave, and compassionate. You could trust people like them. He was the opposite of that. Yes, he knew he cared for his people, but he would run away so that he might live another day to fight before he would charge into a hopeless battle. He would lie to protect someone he cared for. There were too many blemishes on his past and he wanted to live more than anything else; that was the only thing he wanted.

He was loyal, but loyalty could be cruel.

She smiled at him, but it was a cold, almost cruel, smile. "We shall see."

It infuriated him, how the gods played with the strings of mortal lives like they were mere puppets, manipulating them to do their bidding. But there was nothing he could do about it; they were the  _gods_ and humans were nothing more than mere ants in their eyes. It was as simple a fact as the sky was blue: you couldn't fight against the will of the gods, and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. All you could do was to go along with what they commanded you to do and hope they didn't destroy everything you held dear in a fit of rage because you weren't perfect. Because they didn't account for human fallibility.

And hope you recognized yourself in the end.

When he blinked, she and the clearing were gone, leaving nothing but darkness to stare at. At first, he didn't recognize what he was lying on top of—at least, not until he realized he was staring at Annabeth's wide gray eyes.

* * *

Every light must cast a shadow. To create darkness, you needed light. For there to be light, therefore, there must be darkness, and for there to be darkness, there must be light. If you didn't know what light was, then there could be no shadows, but if there were no shadows, then there could be no light. For every light you cast, there was a shadow attached to your heels.

It was a conundrum, how two opposite entities needed each other so that they could exist. Apparently. the gods took delight in creating paradoxes. To know joy, you must understand despair. To love, you must be selfish and unselfish. The moon took light from the sun so that it might shine in the night, but the sun took no light from the moon. If you looked, you could find so many symbiotic relationships within the tiny hemisphere that humans lived in.

With this logic in mind, Annabeth lunged for the candle that Percy had lit earlier, swerving around fallen chairs and that shadowy, monstrous  _thing_ that would haunt her dreams for months to come _._ She couldn't fight shadows with her saber or a knife or words, so she would have to take away the light. The shadows reached for her, writhing and twisting into knives as they tried to stop her from blowing out the candle. Another tentacle reached forward, and she realized that it was going to knock the candle over so that the books would catch on fire.

 _Oh, no you don't._ She wouldn't be able to take out the light to defeat this shadow thing if the bibliotheca caught on fire, casting more shadows about the room. So, miraculously, she managed to swipe the candle at the last second by lunging for it and extinguished the flame, blowing it out. The second one had been snuffed out already in the chaos of the fight and Percy's revelation, so she was left with total darkness. Not even the moon or the stars were out that night, and all she could hear was herself gasping.

 _Percy_!

Scrambling and cursing as she stumbled over books and chairs and as she bumped into tables and shelves, Annabeth nearly tripped over Percy's prone body, though she managed to stop herself when she felt his arm against her foot. Terror and adrenaline thrummed through her veins, warming them, and she was trembling so hard she fell to her knees beside him.

"Percy?" she asked, pressing her hand against his still chest. Her eyes were hot and they were beginning to prickle as she bent over him, pressing her ear against his chest, but she couldn't hear anything other than the blood that was rushing between her ears. Her heart was racing and she held her breath, trying to listen because she couldn't  _lose him._ It wasn't his time yet; he still a country to rule. She still didn't feel like she  _knew_ him very well—They were supposed to have their entire lives ahead of them!

But then he jolted awake with a cry, and she yelped when their heads collided, instinctively moving her hand to cradle her temple.

"Annabeth?" He sounded confused, and she reached out to touch him with her free hand, just to make sure this wasn't a nightmare, that he was real. "I don't understand, what happened?"

"Thank the gods you're alive," she responded automatically, not ready to answer his question because  _she_ didn't understand what happened. His hand trailed up her arm, over her wrists, elbows, biceps and shoulders, and she felt his thumb ghost against her chin and over her lips and nose, as if he was reassuring himself she was still here. "I don't know what happened. There was this shadowy  _thing,_ and then you leapt in front of it, of all the hare-brained, half-schemed things you could have done."

Her voice hitched and cracked to her mortification. His palm cupped her cheek and she exhaled shakily, trying to calm herself down. Her head ached, the shadows had somehow become tangible and had tried to kill her when she had spent her whole life scoffing at the idea of monsters living under her bed when there were monsters hidden in humans, but she was still alive, and he was still here. "I'm very angry with you right now."

"I know. I'm sorry for scaring you." His voice was warm, and her shoulders slumped as some of the tension drained from her. "Is it still here?"

"I don't know. I blew out the candles." She didn't have to ask him to clarify what he meant. She had a feeling that she would be having nightmares about that thing for months. Shadows became tangible and could hurt people. Perhaps children could sense that thing when they were young, and that was why they feared the dark until they could rationalize it when they were old enough to. "Can we get out of here? This place is giving me the creeps."

He hesitated. "The books though…"

She shook her head. "Leave them there. We can get them later.  _After_ the sun is in the sky and there's somebody else here." She didn't want to stay in this place longer than she had to. Normally, she didn't like leaving messes for other people to clean up, and she definitely didn't like leaving books strewn across the floor, probably damaging the binding, but this wasn't a  _normal_ situation at all.

"Okay." He stood, his hand trailed down her neck and her arm until he grabbed her hand, which made goosebumps erupt on her flesh. She wasn't sure if he was holding onto her because he was more nervous than he appeared or if he just didn't want to lose her in the darkness. It probably didn't matter. He seemed distracted, as if he was thinking about something very hard, and she let him lead her through the too still night back to their chambers.

"Are you okay?" she asked, hesitant, after she closed the door behind them with a soft click. The darkness in here didn't feel as oppressing as it had in the corridors or as dangerous as it had in the bibliotheca, so she felt safer asking him that. She tugged on his wrist, to turn him around, and she captured his second hand so that he couldn't move away. A sliver of light trickled in so that she could see his green eyes and his shadowed expression. "You're not injured, are you?"

"I… I think I spoke to Juno."

"Juno?  _Juno?_  As in the queen of the gods  _Juno?_  Hera's Roman counterpart?"

"Yes." She fell silent, knowing that they would go off on a tangent if she continued asking questions and she wouldn't remember the original reason why she was worried about him. He was quieter and she was more frantic than usual. "She said that the gods were somehow poisoned by Nox. The only reason why she was able to talk to me was because my soul had dislodged from my body." He made a face, and she didn't like the idea that his  _soul_ had been removed from his body. At all.

"Oh." She was feeling very articulate today. "That's bad."

He snorted. And then he started laughing until he was laughing so hard he was nearly doubled over. Hysteria made his laughter sharp as she found herself joining in with him, not because it was funny but she felt like she might start crying if she didn't laugh. Eventually, though, she had to stop, and she let out a heavy sigh as she slid to the floor, her knees giving out on her.

"I'm not injured," he said softly, falling with her. She met his eyes again, shining in the darkness, and she reached up with a trembling hand to place it over his nose and mouth, feeling the way his breath warmed against her palm. He pulled her close to him, folding his arms around her back and waist, and she exhaled.

She felt like they had both narrowly escaped the clutches of death. A part of her was almost unsettlingly aware of how her heart was pounding in her chest so hard that she was half afraid it might burst in the silence. The other part was fixed on how warm he felt against her, and how she could feel  _his_ heartbeat underneath her hand, telling her that he was still alive too. Something inside of her was shifting, now that she wasn't so focused on the terror, and she tried to pull away before she could start acting on impulses that she shouldn't, but his arms tightened around her.

"Percy…" she grumbled, and rested her forehead against his collarbone, suddenly wishing that he wasn't untouchable to her right now. All she wanted was to feel his flesh against hers to reassure herself he was still alive. Again. "You're an attractive man and I'm pressed against you. I won't hold myself accountable for my actions if you don't let me go."

He didn't release her, and she sighed. He ran hot and then he ran cold, sometimes welcoming her advances and other times rejecting them. She understood where he was coming from, she felt it herself and he had held himself off, but it was beginning to unravel her, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

She wasn't patient like he was, and they both knew it.

"Please," she whispered, closing her eyes, suddenly feeling raw and open and maybe a little mutinous, not entirely sure what she was talking about. "I can't do this much longer..."

She felt him swallow, and his arms relaxed, but he didn't drop them from her shoulders. Time passed, and it felt like an eternity, and he sounded nervous as he whispered into her ear, "I don't think I can either."

It took her a moment to understand what he meant, and then another to make sure that she was translating that properly. She pulled her head up and stared at him, and now  _she_ was the one hesitating. "Are you sure?" she asked. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Piper's yelled at her for questioning his sudden change of heart, but she felt obliged to push it to back of her head and ignore it like he had done for her. "It might just be the heat of the moment... I don't want to do anything we might regret later."

He blinked at her, his eyes widening slightly in a way that was, of all things,  _adorable_ on his face. (Adorable wasn't a word she had thought she would associate with him, ever. Gorgeous, attractive, annoying, yes. Adorable? No.) She suddenly realized that she had echoed what he had told her when he arrived after she thought he had almost died a couple of months ago. She'd been a little annoyed with him then too.

Then his expression softened. "I'm an idiot," he said, and she certainly agreed with  _that_ statement. "Yes, I'm sure. I don't want to wait anymore."

A paradigm shifted, and the walls she hadn't realized had been erected because they had been built slowly over time so that she would never notice them came crashing down to the ground. Hesitantly, she reached up and pressed her hand against the nape of his neck, biting her lip. He ducked down, and he was moving too slowly, so she pulled his head over and pressed her lips against his.

Slowly, almost tentatively, his hand fell from her back to her waist and he pulled her flush against him as his lips trailed down her jaw and the side of her neck when she tilted her head to the side. He was treating her like she was as fragile as porcelain, but she didn't feel offended. She could sense the tender, loving care in his trembling hands as his thumb rose up and down her side, and it made her feel like a priceless treasure. His hand tangled in her hair, and she felt bobby pins fall from her scalp as her hair trailed down her back, never to be found again.

She pulled herself closer to him and straddled his hips with her thighs, aware of his body and her own as his hand trailed higher slowly, up along her ribcage, before it fell again. He pulled away from her shoulder and blinked at her.

She almost lost him again today. There were so many unknowns in life, so many variables; one day, they might be here, and then the next, either of them could be gone. What was thirty or forty years in the eyes of a god who had already lived for several millennia? Nothing. Life was short and fragile, they were mortal, and that was why it was so precious. They burned as bright as wildfires because it was so short.

You couldn't live if you didn't take any risks. Sometimes, the only way you could learn to love somebody was to fall with them so that you could selfishly save each other before you hit the ground.

That was what she wanted, most of all. She didn't want to live a half life; she wanted to experience it fully with all of its colors. She wanted to view the world like a rainbow, not in monochromes. She wanted her eyes wide open, not closed and blinded.

"Me either," she whispered, heart pounding as she felt his breath fan against her face and warmth pool between them. The air between them shifted again, and she wasn't sure which one of them it was who moved first, but her arms had suddenly wrapped around his neck and her legs had wrapped around his waist when he stood and fell back against the door. He was kissing her like he had been drowning and she was the air he needed to breathe, his hands burning through the folds of her clothes as he gripped her thighs. Her hands withdrew from his neck to his shoulders, because as romantic as holding onto him like that was, she didn't want to fall over.

When his head tilted back, she dove in for the opportunity he presented her, feeling how fragile the bones in his neck were underneath her lips. He was powerless in this position, unable to do anything if she decided to harm him, just as she was if he decided to harm her too. Something possessed her to pull away, and she drank in the sight of his half-lidded green eyes staring at her with this  _emotion_ in his eyes that she couldn't name. Something open and soft and raw and full, and there was something like hesitation in them mixed with a certain surety.

Perhaps he felt just as vulnerable as she did.

(She fell in love the way you would fall asleep: Slowly, and then all at once.)

(( _pop in a puzzle piece))_

He carried her across the threshold of their room, careful not to trip or stumble, and she kept her arms wrapped around his neck, trailing kisses over his jaw and neck and collarbone. Time blurred, and at some point, she fell onto the mattress, tugging him down with her as they both laughed and clothes came off slowly. Her hands trailed over his body in tentative exploration (His wonderful,  _wonderful_ body; another blessing the gods gifted her with, or him. Probably her more than him since he didn't seem to notice much. For as arrogant as he could sometimes be, he wasn't vain.), memorizing as much as she could. His hands were trembling as he wrapped his fingers around the knot of her chiton as he looked at her imploringly ( _"May I?_ "), and, though she hesitated for a more than a heartbeat and he had started to pull away with a look of understanding in his eyes, she nodded and closed her hands over his ( _"Of course."_ ).

There was an infinite set of numbers between zero and one such as point one and point twelve and point one-hundred and twelve and an infinite collection of other numbers. Of course, there was a bigger set of infinite numbers between zero and two or between zero and a million. It had taken her a long time to understand, because she had felt like they were invincible because they were young and healthy, but all their days on earth were numbered. They were mortal, they could die today, or tomorrow, or in ten years from now. Simply put, some infinities were bigger than other infinities. Every day had to be cherished like it was their last.

He had given her a forever in their numbered days and she was grateful.

(( _out goes another_ ))

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I blatantly stole the last couple of paragraphs from The Fault in Our Stars, so I give credit to... whoever wrote it. John Greene? I love the last scene to bits though; it's one of my favorites. =) It's also basically pretty much the last happy chapter for the rest of the story, more or less. 
> 
> I've added a number of tags in the last couple of days; some are for later chapters, others apply now. Hopefully they don't give too much of the plot away, since I was trying to keep them vague. :)


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